-^^  '     111  mil  nil  limn  Hill  II 


£^ 


iaiien  under  tLe  wheel."— -Ba2./rq/f'  in  Txiryene;^^ s  ''Fathers  and  Sons." 


UNDER  THE  WHEEL 


A  MODEPN  PLAY  IN  SIX  SCENES. 


By   HAMLIN   GAELAXD. 


ALL  EI&HTS   EESEL^TED. 


PRICE    ^5    CENTS 


BOSTON,  :\IASS: 
THE  BARTA  PRESS,  148  HIGH  STREET. 

1S90. 


THG 
UNIYGRSITY  Of  CALlfORNlfl 
LIBRARY 

7e)  f' 


I  have  fallen  under  the  wheel.'-/.'.'-..'r.,r,  m  Turoenefs  -Fathers  and  Sons.'' 


UNDEE  THE  AVIIEEL, 


A  MODERN  PLAY  IN  SIX  SCENES, 


BY 


HAMLIN    GARLAND. 


ALL    RIGHTS    RESERVED. 


BOSTON,    MASS: 

THE   BARTA   PRESS.    148   HIGH  STREET. 

1890. 


AUTHOE'S  PREFACE. 


Theee  is  a  phrase  current  among  western  horsemen  which 
always  had  a  deeply  pathetic  meaning  to  me. — "  That  horse,  sii', 
will  go  till  he  goes  under  the  wheel."  Or  one  man  will  say  to 
another  in  a  boast,  "  My  bay  can  put  yoiu'  soitcI  under  the  wheel,  " 
meaning  in  each  case  that  a  fine  high-spii'ited  horse  will  travel 
till  he  drops  dead  in  the  harness.  With  this  in  my  mind  I  won- 
dered if  Bazaroff,  Turgeneft's  hero,  had  not  some  such  dim  pic- 
tm-e  in  his  mind  when  he  muttered,  "All  is  over.  I  have  fallen 
under  the  wheel."  As  for  the  body  of  the  play,  it  aims  to  pre- 
sent first  of  all  a  picture  of  certain  phases  of  American  life,  and 
secondarily  a  problem,  because  no  section  of  life,  carefully  consid- 
ered, fails  to  present  j^hases  of  shortcomings,  injustices,  "^and  suf- 
ferings calculated  to  make  the  thoughtful  man  fall  into  deep 
thought. 

For  eight  years  I  have  been  growing  steadily  in  the  belief  that 
I  have  heard  the  riddle  of  the  sphinx  answered,  not  by  one 
voice  but  by  many.  I  have  very  definite  beliefs  as  to  the  fine  of 
remedial  action  but  I  do  not  insist  on  the  infallibility  of  my 
belief.  I  simply  say  I  am  satisfied  that  the  destruction  of  ail 
monopoly  in  land  by  a  single  governmental  levy  upon  the  social 
or  site-value  of  land  is  the  heroic  cure  for  most  —  if  not  all  —  of 
the  disease  and  deformity  of  our  social  life. 

This  I  have  suggested  in  my  play  and  occasionally  in  my 
stories,  never  I  hope  to  the  great  injury  of  their  literary  value. 
I  have  also  aimed  at  setting  forth  in  a  modest  way  the  gro^-inor 
desire  of  the  modern  woman  to  stand  as  an  individual  beside 
man.  Ahce  Edwards,  in  a  dim,  searching  way,  is  walking  toward 
the  light,  as  I  see  her.  In  rejecting  charity  and  demanding  jus- 
tice she  is  voicing  the  expanding  person aUty  of  the  modern  man 
and  woman. 

I  should  be  very  glad  to  hear  from  those  to  whom  the  story  of 
Jason  Edwards  and  his  daughter  comes  with  new  meaning,  or  as 
a  new  statement. 

HAMLIX   GARLAXD, 

Xo.  7  Beacon  Street. 

4344;^" 


UNDEK  THE  WHEEL. 

A  MODEEN  Play  in  Six  Scenes 


BY    HAMLIN    G ARLAXD. 


.'  I  have  fallen  under  the  wheel."-Bazaro/  in  TurgenejT^  "Fathers  and  Sons." 
seen.  «..,.-A  Me.hanic;sTenement.     .tone  ^^X-l^GtSl'llQ^r'- 
f  fn'e  ■St-/>?iSTa"lr?i'r^.  S  f  !4.-A  Charity  bU. 

Persons  Represented: 
Jason  Edwabds,  J/ecftamc.  Hank   Whttisg.   Proj,ri.ior    ITestem 

Yri/FowrED.^  Fban"k'gbaha..,  Wamburger  Grocery. 

f  ^T?E  LivOm  (nine).  JOHKSOS,  "  Fannin'  it." 

Event),.  TnvrrFv      ToM       BLACKSMITH,     and 

Mrs.  Murtagh.  ionguey      ±om,      -l> 

JCLIAN  Be«<^h  j^^^g  Balser,  Land  Agmt^ Attorney ,  Boomer. 


(Copyrighted  by  Hamlix  GARLA^^).    AH  rights  reserved.) 

Scene  First.—  A  Mechanic's  Tenement. 

A  square  room,  carpeted  with  V.^e^P^.^.^^P^J  ^,S  •''I0&  rig^^^ 
seat  chairs  standing  about;  table  m  centre  scantily  spread    sofa  ngaiirop   i^^jicates  that 
bureau  left  back;   small  tab  e  .\e"  ^^ronV  co\^ered  witn  D001.5.     |.      j      ^^  ^^^  the  shrill 
this  is  general  living  room^;;;^,^^?  ^n^i^  al  oft  fi^To'clock   and  very  hot.    Linnie  is  dram- 
aVfh^'^S.^^ilE^a^r'iis'is'Jo^i^n?  'ace  is  sweet,  but  worn 

and  apathetic. 

Mrs.  E.     «  Linnie."  , 

Limxie  (juminngfrom  the  stool).     "  What,  momma . 
Mrs  E.     "  You  didn't  put  on  the  <iups  and  saucers. 
(Lbmie  flies  <y^M  into  the  kitchen.     3Irs.  Edimrds  drops  into  a 
cfmir  .cearily,  and  putting  her  hands  to  her  head  sighs  deeply, 

^'^Li^re'' {returning  and  arranging  cnps)  "  I^^^^^'^^^^f  ^^^^ 
lovely,  momma,  sitting  up  there  before  all  those  people  .  ^^  i  wish 
I  was  a  graduate  so  I  could  sing  and  wear  a  white  dress. 

Mrs.  E.  (rising  sloidy).  "Be  patient,  child,  an  mebbe  you 
will  be.  If  father  has  good  luck  you  can  go  to  the  conservatory. 
Mebbe  we  won't  always  be  s'  poor." 


Linnie.     "  What  makes  so  many  people  poor,  momma  ?  " 

Mrs.  E.  "  Oh,  I  don't  know,  chUd.  Ask  Mr.  Reeves ;  he's  an 
editor,  and  ought  t'  know.     I  don't  know." 

{Boy  x>eexjs  in  tJie  door,  throics  himself  into  an  attitude  of 
pitching  a  ball.)     «  Hi,  there  !     Git  onto  me  curves  !  " 

Linnie.     "  Oh,  let  me  see  I  Where  'd  y'  get  it,  Teddy  ?  " 

Teddy.     «  I  found  it  —  bought  it,  I  mean." 

Linnie.  "Found  it!  Where?"  (Teddy  hesitates.)  '^O 
Teddy  I"  ^          J  )         ^ 

Teddy  {reproachfully).  «  Well,  what's  a  feller  t'  do  wen 
Brooters  bangs  a  high  foul  over  de  fence  square  up  agin  y'r  leo-  ? 
Look  out  fer  me  razzle-dazzle  now !  Get  onto  me  snake  now, 
Clarkson's  in  de  box  !  Now  see  me  pitch  a  side-drop.  Oh,  dat's 
de  ball  dat  razzle-dazzles  de  coon  wid  de  stick !  "  i Pantomime  of 
throwing.) 

Linnie  {looking  on  icith  interest).  "  I'll  bet  I  can  do  it.  Let 
me  try." 

Teddy.  "  I've  got  '  a '  go  home  in  a  minnit,  but  I'll  give  yeh  a 
pointer  or  tAvo." 

{As  they  talk  in  the  corner  3frs.  Jfurtagh,  a  middle-aged  Irish- 
woman vnth  x>leasant  face,  enters  icith  a  dish  in  her  hand.  As 
she  talks  Mrs.  E.  keeps  about  her  loork,  causing  the  visitor  to 
raise  and  lower  her  voice  cdternately.) 

3Irs.  Mirrtagh.  "Arrah!  And  have  ye  haird  the  noos  ? 
Timmy  Sheehan  has  broken  the  hid  ov  Mike  O'Lary  f'r  darin'  t' 
chpake  ill  ov  Mary  McGrill.  The  more  honor  to  him  !  and  Mrs. 
O'Hoolilian's  old  man  caam  home  full  o'  paches,  wild  as  an  injin 

—  and  oh  !  the  cirrcus  they  had  wud  raise  the  hairs  of  ye ! y' 

should  be  on  me  side  o'  the  house.  Y'd  ha'  thought  the  bloody 
fiends  o'  hell  wor  havin'  a  free  fight.  It's  a  foine  woman  is  Mrs. 
O'HooHhan,  an'  her  arms  are  beautiful  wid  mooscle ;  the  divil  a 
mon  c'n  walk  over  her  hid  — " 

_  Mrs.  Edwards.  «  Sh !  Don't  talk  of  that,  I  don't  like  to  have 
Linme  hear  it.     She  hears  too  much  now." 

Mrs.  M.  {loicering  her  voice).  « It's  little  she  moinds  what  oim 
a-sayin,'  wid  Teddy  tachin'  her  some  o'  his  schmart  tricks.  He 
takes  after  his  father,  does  Teddy."  (  With  adroit  turn  to  flattery.) 
"  But  it's  a  blissid  home  y'  have  here  sure,  wid  four  swate  little 
rooms  on  the  second  floight  front.  An'  think  o'  me  jist,  wid  six 
childer  an'  three  rooms  three  floights  back !  It's  a  lucky  woman 
ye  air  so  ye  air,  Mrs.  Edwards." 

Mrs.  Edwards.  "  Yes,  I  'spose  I  be,  compared  with  others ; 
but  my  home  aint  what  I  wish  it  was." 

Mrs.  3f.     "  Xot  what  ye  wish  it  was !      What'll  ye  be  wantin' 

—  theairth?"  ^ 

Mrs.  E.  {musing  a  moment  at  the  table).     "  Yes,  that's  just  it. 


It  is  the  earth  I'm  wantin'.  I  want  'o  hve  where  they's  a  place 
for  my  children  to  play.  Seems  's  if  I  never  could  get  recon- 
ciled to  their  playin'  in  the  streets.  I  want  a  little  yard  with 
apple-trees  in  it  and  a  pear-tree,  and — and — a — home  —  this  aint  a 
home,  it's  only  a  stopping-place." 

Mrs.  31.  "  Glory  be  to  God.  WTiin  ye  git  that  y'll  be  wid  the 
saints  !  Be  gorry,  the  loikes  o'  that  '11  nivir  come  t'  the  loikes  av 
us.  But  would  ye  lind  me  the  loan  av  a  cuup  o'  tay  ?  It's  out  o' 
tay  I  am  and  me  nairves  in  that  state  !  And  the  childer  that 
crazy."  (A  crash  on  the  stairs  and  screams  ofbahe.  Jlrs.  Mf/.r- 
tagh  rushes  to  the  door  and  yells  like  a  fog  horn.)  "Phwat  air 
ye  doin'  up  there  ?  Gaw  back  in  the  room  wid  ye  I  If  ye  dhrop 
the  babby  over  the  bannister  again  I'll  baste  the  skin  av  ye  ! 
Teddy,  run  up  an'  see  phawt  the  spalpane  Patsey  is  doin'." 
{Teddy  pays  no  heed.)  {Coming  back  to  the  centre  calmly 
taking  up  her  jxdaver.) 

"As  I  was  sayiu',  ye've  been  s'  kind  to  a  poor — "  {At  this 
point  she  sees  Alice  Edicards  entering  icith  Walter  JReeves  and 
scuttles  into  kitchen  kft,  looks  out  icith  a  comical  leer.,  sloxdy 
closing  the  door.  Alice  is  a  girl  of  ticenty  with  a  thoughtful 
face  ;  she  is  dressed  in  a  light-colored  modish  dress.  She  enters 
the  room  and  turns.,  smiling  faintly  at  Reeves  icho  is  talking  to 
someone  in  the  hall.  Beeves  is  a  handsome.,  alert  man  of  thirty., 
dressed  richly.  His  hair  is  pushed  straight  up  from  his  fore- 
head;  he  has  a  quizziccd  look  about  his  eyes.) 

Beeves  (still  looking  into  hall).  "  Pat,  none  o'  y'r  grinnin'  now. 
It's  the  divil's  own  time  I'd  be  ha-vin'  wid  yez  if  y'  lave  anither 
banany-skin  on  the  stairway."  {Entering  he  takes  Teddy  by  the 
napje  of  the  neck.)      "Two's  company,  Teddy,  three's  a  crowd." 

Teddy  {rebelliously) .  "  Wy  don't  y'  put'/^.er  out?"  {pointing 
at  Linnie.) 

Linnie.     "O  Teddy  Murtagh.     I  guess — " 

Reeves.  "  Xo  words  —  Teddy  — no  recriminations.  Pun 
along  —  I  think  I  smell  y'r  supper  waitin'  f  er  yeh  — " 

Linnie  {icho  has  whispered  to  Alice).  "  Oh,  I'll  go  meet  papa." 
{Runs  out  back.) 

Reeves  to  Alice.  "  Eh,  well  I  Privacy  and  tenement  houses 
are  mutually  destructive  terms.  As  a  prying  newspaper  man,  I'm 
getting  a  dose  of  my  own  medicine.  They  all  take  a  great  inter- 
est in  my  affah's." 

(Alice  smiles  but  faintly  at  his  fun.  She  remains  seated^  eyes 
held  do  ten  in  thought.) 

Reeves  {sinking  i?ito  a  chair).  "  Another  graduation  recital 
would  lay  me  out  in  the  morgue.  That  tall  girl  who  punished 
Schumann  —  well,  let  that  pass  and  come  back  to  the  matter  in 
hand.     That's  all  you'll  promise  me,  is  it  ? 


9" 


Alice  (very  gravely) .     "  Yes." 

Reeves.     *'  To  marry  me  —  sometime ! " 

Alice  {smiling  a  little) .     "  Aint  that  enough  ?  "" 

Reeves  {rising).  "No.  It's  too  indefinite.  Enough,  to  a  man 
who  wants  you  and  the  earth !  Now  just  think  how  indefinite 
that  sounds  —  sometime !  Why  not  put  a  mete  and  a  bound  to 
it!  Why  not  say  next  Fourth  of  July?"  {She  smiles  and 
shakes  her  head.)  "Thanksgiving?"  {She  shakes  head  less 
emphatically.)  "  Christmas  ?  Ah  !  now  I'm  getting  at  it.  Say  a 
year  from  to-day.  Now  that's  a  tremendous  sacrifice  on  my  part. 
Come  now ! " 

Alice  (smilijig) .     "  Well,  I  —  will  —  " 

Reeves  {leaping  up).     "  Good ! " 

Alice  {thrusting  him  back).     "  —  think  of  it." 

Reeves.     "  What's  that  ?  " 

Alice.     "  I  said  I'd  think  of  it." 

Reeves  {turning  wildly  away).  "Nothing  of  the  kind!  Alice, 
you  are  wildly  exasperating.  To  think  of  the  sermons,  recitals, 
and  graduating  elocutionists  I've  listened  to,  to  hear  you  sing ! 
To  think  of  the  ice-cream  sodas  —  " 

Alice  {xvarningly).     "  Walter !  " 

Reeves  {sinking  down  into  a  chair).  "  All  diss  haff  I  endured 
mit  a  batient  shrug  —  only  for  this,  only  for  this!"  {Groans^ 
hides  face.) 

Alice  {^sternly).     "How  can  you  make  light  of  it  I  " 

Reeves  {looking  up).  "  Make  light  of  it !  Do  I  look  like  a  man 
making  light  of  anything  ?  "  {Becoming  grave.)  "  Alice,  this  is 
nonsense.  Just  look  at  it  from  my  standpoint  a  moment.  Here 
I  amj  good  salary,  a  little  land  and  railway  stock  —  eye  on  a  dove 
of  a  cottage  in  Meadow- view.  Queen  Anne,  piazza  all  the  way 
round  —  " 

Alice.     "  I  know  —  but  —  " 

Reeves.     "But  what?" 

Alice  {smiling) .     « I'm  happy  now  —  " 

Reeves  {dolorously).     "  But  I  aint." 

Alice.  "I  have  my  music,  and  father,  and  mother,  and 
Linnie.  Don't  ask  too  much  of  me.  Why  can't  you  be 
patient  ?  " 

Reeves.     "lam.     Job  aint  a  circumstance  to  me." 
Alice  {with  enthusiasm).     "I  love  my  music;   I   can't   stop 
now  just  when  I  am  beginning  to  master  it.     I  must  succeed  in 
that  first.     I  want  to  show  people  that  I  can  earn  my  own  liv- 
ing—" 

Reeves  {earnestly).    "  Dearest  girl,  all  I  have  is  thine  !  " 
Alice  {firmly).     "  No,  it  aint.     I  want  money  all  my  own.     I 
want  to  lift  my  people  out  of  this  —  Oh,  wouldn't  it  be*^  glorious  ? 


That's  what  I've  worked  for  —  dreamed  about !     I  can't  give  it 
up  now — " 

Iteei:es.  "  Oh,  these  modern  women  !  Oh,  for  the  soft  and 
yielding  heroine  of  romance  !  " 

Alice  {going  on).  "  You  got  your  place  by  your  own  work  ;  I 
want  to  show  how  much  I  can  do." 

Beeves.     "  You  mean  how  little." 

Alice  {stamping  her  foot).  "  I  mean  how  much  !  I'm  proud 
of  you  because  you  got  your  place  by  merit ;  I'm  going  to  see  if 
I  can't  do  something  —  " 

Reeves  {secretly  achniring  Iter).     "  Xonsense  I     I  can  do  work 
enough  for  two.     I  don't  want  you  to  work  —  " 

Alice.     "  I  know  you  don't,  but —  " 

Beeves.     "  But  what  ?  " 

Alice.  "  I  want  to  work.  Can't  you  wait  ?  Let  me  have  my 
freedom  another  year  to  see  what  I  can  do." 

Beeves  {a  little  nettled).  "  Freedom  I  Come,  now,  that's  going 
too  far.  As  if  you  couldn't  do  just  as  you  please  after  marry- 
ing me  !  " 

Alice  {eluding  him).  "I'm  not  so  sure  about  that  I  Don't 
vou  remember  calling  me  the  modern  woman  a  few  moments 
ago  ?  " 

Beeves  {surprised at  her  turn).     "Yes." 

Alice  {^icith  returning  archness).  "  Well,  the  modern  woman 
doesn't  marry  young." 

Beeves.  "  The  modern  woman  better  look  out  or  she'll  get  out 
o'  the  habit  and  not  marry  at  all !  Say,  Alice,  do  you  know  I'm 
getting  old  ?  I  am,  too  near  thirty,  altogether.  Come  and  look 
at  my  hair  —  gray,  eh  ?  " 

Alice  {jnishing  her  hand  through  his  hair).  "Gray!  There 
isn't  a  gray  hair  in  it  —  and  if  —  " 

Beeves.  "And  if  there  was,  it  would  be  due  to  dissipation. 
Oh,  that's  what  you  were  going  to  say  !     Now  that's  —  " 

Alice  {protesting).    "  No,  no  I    I  didn't  mean  that —  I  meant —  " 

Beeves.  "  Oh,  you  can't  ST\'itch  off  onto  Back-Bay  parties  and 
summer  hotels ;  but  there  is  something  in  these  five  o'clock  recep- 
tions —  the  tea  I  knoic  is  wearing  on  me.  But  come  back  to  the 
matter  in  hand." 

Alice  (freeing  herself  and  going).  "  Xow  I  won't  argue  any 
more.     You  sit  down  and  keep  delightfully  quiet." 

Beeves.     "  But  hold  on.     I  —  "  ^ 

Alice  {hangs  up  her  hat  and  sits  at  2yici7io.  Droicns  out  his 
voice,  and  then  asks  demurely),  "  What  were  vou  about  saving, 
Walter?" 

Beeves  {savagely).  "  I  was  merely  remarking  that  I'll  go  home 
and  write  a  ferocious  article  on  the  modern  woman." 


Alice  {sxoeethj).  "Do,  and  I'll  add  another  year  to  your  proba- 
tion. The  tyrant  man  must  be  taught  his  real  weakness.  Woman 
is  becoming  his  equal,  nay,  his  conqueror  ! " 

Beeves  {in  mock  despair).    "  Oh,  that  I  was  born  so  late !  " 

(^5  she2jl<iys  softly  he  rises  and  goes  over  to  her  and  puts  his 
hand  on  her  shoulder.  Wkeyi  she  ceases  p>layi7ig  he  says  in  a  nexn 
tone  of  voice^)  —  "  Lovers  always  enjoy  telling  each  other  what 
they  thought  and  felt  the  first  time  they  met  —  " 

Alice  {looking  up).     "  Yes,  go  on." 

Reeves.  "  I  never  could  tell  what  I  thought  when  I  saw  you 
first  —  I  met  you  on  the  street,  you  remember  —  " 

Alice.     '^  I  remember." 

Reeves.  "But  I  clipped  a  little  poem  to-day,  that  comes  as 
near  expressing  my  thought  as  anything  can." 

Alice.     "  Oh,  read  it  I     Won't  you,  please  ?  " 

Reeves.     "  How  do  you  know  it's  complimentary  ?  " 

Alice.     "  I  don't." 

Reeves  {smiling).  "  Yes,  you  do,  or  you  wouldn't  plead  for  it. 
Well,  it  went  something  like  this  —  if  my  memory  serves :  — 

She  passed  me  on  the  street 
And  saw  me  not  I 
As  some  sweet  singer,  far 
From  its  swaying  nest 
Beside  some  half-hid  stream 
Deep  in  the  wooded  west, 
Musing  she  moved  with  eyes 
Upon  some  other  far-off  skies. 

Knowing  not  rice,  nor  hunger's  ways, 
With  pure,  unthinking,  child-like  eyes, 
She  passed  me,  but  I  caught 
The  glorious  beauty  of  her  face! 
Beneath  her  garments,  perfume  fraught, 
She  moved  with  such  a  splendid  grace 
I  thought  a  strain  of  music  passed 
And  with  its  passing  held  me  fast ! 

So  purely  pure  her  happy  face, 

So  delicate  each  rounded  limb, 
So  perfect  was  the  line  of  grace 
That  swept  from  breast  to  dainty  rim 
Of  swaying  dress,  no  sculptor's  dream 
Of  angelhood  had  half  the  spell 
That  in  her  living  beauty  lay  — 
She  passed!    And  I,  so  eager-eyed — " 

{As  Reeves  repeats  this  poem  to  Alice.,  she  keeps  her  eyes  on  the 
floor.  As  he  hesitates  on  the  last  verse  she  takes  his  hand  in  hers., 
and  lays  her  cheek  on  it.     As  he  finishes  she  looks  up  and  says  :) 

"  Did  you  —  Oh,  how  you  idealize  me  !  If  it  were  only  true  that 
we  knew  neither  vice  nor  hunger  I     But  there  is  no  escaping  — " 


{Knocking  at  the  door^  and  enter  Mrs.  Murtagh^  followed  by 
Mrs.  Edicards^  icho  places  a  dish  on  the  table.) 

3frs.  M.  {elaborately  to  Heeves).  "  Good  evenin',  Mister  Iditorr. 
Good  evenin',  Miss  Edwards.  It's  a  bloody  thief  I  feel  loike ; 
but  Murtagh  '11  be  waitin',  an'  waitin'  makes  him  that  angry. 
It's  the  divil's  own  task  t'  come  bechune  two  swatehaiits  sittin' 
loike  two  dooves  in  a  nist  —  " 

Beeves.     "  There,  never  mind  that." 

Mrs.  31.     "  Oh,  it's  not  on  me  own  account — " 

Teddy  Qmtting  his  head  in  at  the  door).  "  Six  t'  four  in  favor 
de  Bostons,  Clarkson  in  de  box." 

Reeves.     "  How's  that  ?" 

Teddy  {icith  certainty).  "  You  bet  yerlife  when  Clark,  is  in  de 
points  dey  go  out,  one.,  toe^  tree.    He  c'n  make  ol'  Anson  fan  de  air." 

Beeves.     "  The  modern  boy." 

Mrs.  M.     "  He's  the  curse  o'  me  loife.     As  I  was  —  " 

Alice  {quickly).  "  There,  there,  Mrs.  Murtagh,  don't  say  any- 
thing more  about  it.     I  didn't  know  —  " 

Mrs.  31.  "  Av  coorse  y'  didn't,  bless  the  swate  two  eyes  av 
yeh !  An'  yer  moother  sayin'  I'll  knock  on  the  dure.  Dawn't 
do  it,  s'si.     I  know  what  it  is  to  resave  cal —  " 

Beeves  {sternly  'protesting),     "Madam,  look — " 

Mrs.  M.  "  Didgy  hear  that,  now  ?  Madam.,  s's  'e  !  Good 
luck  t'  yeh  f'r  the  same  token  — "     {Curtseys.     Bow  outside.) 

Beeves.     "  Aint  that  Teddy  howling  ?  " 

3rrs.  M.  {listening  an  instant).  "  Foightin'  is  he  ?  Mother  o' 
God !  that  b'y's  the  divil  himsilf .  Good  luck  t'  the  bawth  o'  ye. 
I'll  dance  at  y'r  weddin'  till  y'll  think  it's  bechune  sixteen  an' 
twenty  I  am."     {Goes  out  hurriedly). 

Beeves  {with  a  sigh).     "  Heavens  and  earth,  what  a  scourge  I" 

Alice.  "  Oh,  she^s  not  bad.  She's  good  at  heart.  But  there 
«?'e  people  in  our  block  who  are  dreadful,  and  it  is  so  hard  to 
escape  them  in  the  city,  where  human  life  presses  so  hard." 

Beeves  {tenderly).  "My  poor  little  girl,  what  a  life  for  you! 
"Why  will  3'ou  not  let  me  take  you  out  of  it?  " 

Alice  {with  significcmt  gravity).  "  And  leave  my  peojjle  in  it  ? 
Oh,  wouldn't  it  be  glorious  if  I  could  get  a  place  to  sing  I  If  I 
go  through  the  course,  my  teacher  says  — " 

Beeves  {icith  a  despairing  sigh).  "There  she  goes  again! 
Well,  I  must  go  back  to  the  office.  You're  a  modern  woman 
with  a  vengeance." 

Mrs.  E.  {coming  forward).  "  Won't  you  stay  t'  supper?  Jason 
'11  be  glad—" 

Beeves.  "  No,  thank  you,  I've  got  a  little  work  at  the  office, 
and  then  I've  to  go  out  and  report  an  anti-poverty  meeting  at  the 
Temple.     Special  job." 


Alice.     *'  What  kind  of  a  meeting  is  that,  for  pity's  sake  ?  " 
J^eeves  {^x^reparing  to  go).     "  Oh,  a  cranky  kind.    Henry  George 
started  it.     Some  absm*d  idea  about  abolishing  poverty." 

Alice  {with  a  profound  sigh).  « I  -w^sh  it  wasn't  so  absurd.  I 
don't  see  why  poverty  is  so  persistent  in  this  age  of  invention." 

Beeves  (as  if  struck  by  her  v:ords).  "  Come  to  think  of  it,  it  is 
more  absurd  to  think  the  abolition  of  poverty  absurd.  Why 
shouldn't  it  be  abolished?  AVhat's  the  good  of  progress  if  it 
doesn't  abolish  it  ? "  {He  muses.)  "  I  don't  see  where  the 
iaugh  comes  in  myself.  Do  you  know,  I've  been  thinking  and 
writing  on  these  things  of  late  ?  I  don't  kno-.v  why ;  it's  in  the  air, 
I  guess.  Everybody's  got  some  cure."  {Leans  his  elbovj  on  a 
chair,  speaks  in  slow,  deep,  musing  voice.)  "I  stood  on  the 
Brooklyn  bridge  the  other  day  and  looked  down  on  New  York. 
Over  me  soared  and  sung  those  stupendous  cables,  the  marvel  of 
man's  skill,  etched  on  the  sky,  dehcate  as  a  spider's  web.  I 
stood  there  looking  down  at  the  sea  of  grimy  roofs,  a  lava-like, 
hideous  flood  of  brick  and  mortar,  cracked,  and  seamed,  and 
monstrous  for  its  lack  of  line  or  touch  of  b'^auty,  a  modern  city. 
I  saw  men  running  to  and  fro  like  ants,  lost  in  the  tumult  of  life 
and  death  struggle.  I  saw  pale  girls  sewing  there  in  dens  reek- 
ing with  pestilence.  I  saw  myriads  of  home's  where  the  children 
could  play  only  in  the  street  or  on  the  sooty  roof,  colonies  of 
hopeless  settlers  sixty  feet  from  their  mother  earth.  And  over 
me  soared  the  bridge  to  testify  to  the  inventive  genius  of  man. 
And  I  said  then  what  I  say  now,  that  men  have  invented  a  thou- 
sand ways  of  producing  wealth,  but  not  one  for  properly  distribu- 
ting it.  I  don't  know  where  the  trouble  is.  If  we  once  knew 
the  trouble,  somebody'd  find  a  cure.  Abolition  of  poverty."  {He 
muses  a  7no7nent,  then  starts.)  "  Well,  good-by,  I'll  write  this  up 
in  a  leader."  (  With  a  return  to  his  cheerfid  manner,  takes 
her  hand,  makes  an  elaborate  obeisance)  "  I  await  your  pleasure. 
Farewell,  my  queen."     (  Goes  out  icithout  looking  back.) 

Alice  {looks  after  him  smilingly.  As  she  comes  back  the  smile 
fades  from  h  er  face) . 

"  Isn't  it  terrible  to  be  poor,  mother  ?  " 

Mrs.  E.  {irith  quiet  pathos).  «  Yes,  dear  ;  but  I've  kind  o'  got 
used  to  it.  I  don't  look  f'r  anything  else  now.  I  don't  care  s' 
much  f'r  m'self,  but  I'd  like  t'  see  my  children  safe  from  it." 

Alice  {seated,  ocith  bent  head).  «  Oh,  how  sweet  it  must  be  to  be 
free  from  the  fear  of  poverty !  To  feel  that  you  don't  need  to 
scrimp  and  pinch,  and  turn  dresses  and  dye  feathers,  and  wear 
old  shoes ;  to  feel  that  food  will  come  when  you  need  it ;  to 
have  the  soul  set  free  for  art."  {Leaping  up,  her  face  agloic.) 
'•  But  I'll  win  yet,  mother  ;  I  feel  in  my  soul  that  I  have  the  gift. 
I'll  take  you  out  of  this —  " 


Mrs.  M.  {entering., with  a  grin).  "Can  y'  loan  me  the  lavin  o' 
sugar?     I  have  a  euiip." 

Mrs.  E.  {takes  the  cup  and  goes  to  kitchen.  Mrs.  M.  turns  to 
Alice  icho  is x>laying  softly).  "  A  foine  yoong  mon  thot.  A  rale 
mon  if  he  does  look  a  bit  av  a  jewd.  It  maad  me  think  o'  the 
toime  when  Murtagh  caam  a-coortin'  me  —  in  the  ould  country — 
may  the  smile  o'  God  fall  on  it !  — an'  a  foine  broth  av  a  b'y  was 
Murtagh,  an'  a  rare  loomp  av  a  gurrul  was  misilf  —  axin'  yer 
})ardin  —  an'  it's  well  I  remember  the  green  turrf ,  an'  the  coos, 
an'  the  pegs  in  the  pin,  an'  the  trees.  Sorry  the  tree  I've  clapped 
me  two  eyes  on  since  the  day  of  Saint  Patrick."  (  To  31rs.  E.., 
mith  sugar).  "  Thank  ye,  mum,  glory  t'  God !  y're  a  joowell.  Be 
gob!  and  phwat  is  the  world  comin'  to  whin  the  half  av  us 
niver  see  the  blissid  soon  rise  'r  set ;  an'  niver  a  blaad  o'  grass  n'r 
a  shavin  o'  mood  f  r  the  childer  t'  roll  on  savin'  the  gutter,  an'  a 
cop  on  the  corner  waitin'  t'  braak  y'r  hid,  'r  a  ply-carrd  sayin' 
kaape  a£f  the  grass.  Faith !  an'  if  this  is  free  Amurriky,  what'U 
be  the  Amurriky  that'll  be  comin'  -svid  the  faall  o'  waages  and  the 
rise  o'  rint?" 

Alice.  "  ^"Miy,  Mrs.  M.,  you're  quite  an  orator.  I  didn't  know 
you  thought  of  these  things." 

Mrs.  M.  "  Tought  of  ^m  ?  Me !  wid  six  childer  an'  Mike's 
waages  cuut  down  t'  tin  dollars  the  wake  ?  Who  shud  tink  av 
thum?" 

Alice.     "  But  you're  always  so  cheery  — " 

3Irs.  M.  "  So  I  am  !  Fer  what's  the  use  wapin'  over  shpilt 
milk  ?  Monny  a  mon  shmiles  wid  a  sore  heart  under  the  vist  av 
'im.  Whin  I  tink  av  ould  Oireland,  the  gem  o'  the  say,  an'  the 
tousands  and  tins  o'  tousands  driven  out  lavin'  the  ould  father 
and  moother  alone  in  the  turrf-hut  it's  shmilin'  sure  I'll  be 
'r  wapin' — "  {lifts  her  cqyron  to  her  eyes  ami  goes  out). 

Alice  {clasping  her  hands  tcildly).  "  O  mother,  mother  !  Are 
there  any  happy  people  in  the  world  —  any  happy  working- 
people  ?  " 

Mrs.  E.  "  It  don't  seem  so  now,  dear.  But  when  I  was 
young,  back  t'  Derry,  seemed  's  if  everybuddy  was  forehanded ; 
but  now  eveiybuddy  is  strugglin'  f'r  dear  life  — " 

{Enter  Linnie  from  the  hall ^  joyously.)  "Poppa's  coming, 
poppa's  coming." 

{Enter  Jason  Edicards^  a  middle-aged  man  in  grimy  cloth- 
ing^ a  tin  pail  in  his  hands.  His  face  is  gloomy  but  he  strives 
to  hide  it.  As  Linnie  runs  to  him  he  takes  her  in  his  hayids 
and  raises  her  to  his  face.)  "  Heigho,  little  one,  look  out  f'r 
grease." 

{As  he  hangs  up  his  coat  and  hat,  she  folloics  him  about.)  "  O 
poppa,  just  think,  I  made  a  cake  t'day  all  alone  !     Mother  didn't 


help  me  hardly  any,  did  y',  mother  ?  Aint  I  gettin'  t'  be  quite  a 
cook?" 

Edwards  {^rolling  up  his  sleeves).  "Well,  I  should  say  so.  I 
don't  know  what  we'd  do  without  our  girls,  do  we,  mother  ?  " 

Linnie.  "  And  O  poppa,  Mr.  Reeves  was  here.  And  when  he 
went  away  he  — " 

Alice  (^warm7igly).     "Linnie." 

Edwards  (icith  assumed  cheerfulness).  "  Ho,  ho  !  Xow  we're 
getting  at  it.  Go  on,  I  want  to  know  what  goes  on  when  I'm 
away.  They  can't  nuthin'  go  on  in  this  ward  without  little  Miss 
Brighteyes  knowin'  all  about  it."     {Goes  out  into  kitchen.) 

Alice.     "  Linnie,  dear,  you  need  discipline." 

Linnie.     "  Wliat's  discipUne  ?  " 

Alice.  "  Horrors,  what  an  inflection !  Discipline  is  teaching 
little  girls  not  to  tell  tales  out  o'  school  and  not  to  talk  like  Teddy 
Murtagh."  {She  goes  out  and  returns  icith  an  apron^  helps  at 
table.) 

{Edwards  enters^  icijjing  his  face.  While  he  is  rolling  down  his 
sleeves^  Linnie  climbs  into  a  chair  and  gets  the  comb  out  of  the 
case  itnder  mirror.) 

Linnie.    "  I'm  all  ready,  poppa.    Sit  down  in  the  rocking-chair." 

{Edwards  sits,  takes  her  on  his  lap).,  claspnng  her  around  her 
waist  ichile  she  talks.) 

"  Aint  you  glad  you've  got  someone  t'  comb  your  hair  for  you 
when  you're  tired  ?  " 

Edwards.  "  I  guess  I  am.  We'd  surrender  without  our  girls, 
wouldn't  we,  mother  ?  But  you're  gettin'  t'  be  such  a  great  big 
girl  now,  I'm  afraid  I  sha'n't  have  y'  much  longer."  {Edwards 
looks  at  Alice,  meaningly.) 

Linnie.  "  I'm  goin'  t'  sit  on  your  lap  till  I'm  big  as  Alice  — 
yes,  a  good  'eal  longer." 

JEdwards.  "  Oh,  no,  you'll  be  goin'  off  an  gittin'  married  one  o' 
these  days,  an'  forgit  y'r  ol'  daddy." 

Linnie.  "  I  won't  neither !  Now  you  stop  talkin'  that  way. 
I  aint  never  goin'  t'  get  married." 

Edwards  {^rising).  "Don't  be  too  sure  of  that !  Well,  Jennie, 
how  goes  it  with  you  to-day?  Seems  turrible  hot  in  here.  I 
swear  it's  worse'n  the  shop." 

Mrs.  E.  (patiently).  "  It  always  is,  Jason,  when  the  wind  is  in 
the  southwest." 

Edwards.     "  Why  don't  you  open  the  door  ?  " 

3L's.  E.  "  I  can't  stand  the  noise  and  smell  t'night,  my  head 
aches.  Sometimes  it  seems  's  if  I  couldn't  bear  it,  but  I  think  o' 
people  who  don't  have  as  much  as  we  do,  an'  so  I  keep  a-goin'." 

Edicards  {walking  about).  "That's  about  the  only  way,  t'  be 
patient.     It  makes  me  wild   sometimes."     {Goes  to  lounge  and 


drops  heavily  upon  it.     Alice  taJces  a  fan  from  the  icall  and  fans 
him^  stoops  and  kisses  him.) 

Alice.  "  Poor  papa  —  it's  dreadful  to  see  you  come  home  so 
tired."     {Brushes  the  hair  back  from  his  forehead.) 

Edicards  (bitterly).  "  It's  just  one  eternal  grind,  not  a  day  off. 
I'm  glad  I  don't  believe  in  another  world  —  I  wouldn't  be  sure  o' 
rest  after  I  got  there."  • 

Mrs.  E.  {shocked).  "  Why,  Jason,  what  are  you  sayin'?  You 
must  've  hed  a  hard  day  in  the  shop.  It's  dretful  hot  f'r  the  first 
week  in  June." 

Edirards  {raising  to  his  elboic).  "  First  week  in  June  I  Wny, 
mother,  it's  just  thirty-two  years  next  week  since  we  was  married. 
D*  you  remember  how  old  Deny  looked  that  day?  Flowers,  and 
berries,  and  daisies,  an'  birds,  {rising)  —  why,  mother,  that  was 
heaven  an'  we  didn't  know  it !  Down  here  in  this  cussed  alley 
we  don't  know  anything  about  Jime,  only  it  makes  our  tenements 
hotter  and  sicklier.  I  s'pose  the  cows  up  there  are  knee-deep  in 
the  grass,  and  the  wind  smellin'  like  the  front  door  o'  heaven. 
We  didn't  look  f'r  this  kind  o'  thing  when  we  left  Derry,  did 
we  ?     We  didn't  look  forward  to  a  tenement '? " 

3Irs,  E.     "  Xo,  Jason, —  but  set  up  an'  eat  sumpthin'." 

Linnie.  "  Poppa,  I  wish  we  could  go  up  in  the  reed  country  this 
summer  —  you  know  you  23romised  —  " 

Alice.     "  Sh  I  Linnie ;  papa  will  do  his  best." 

Edicards  {going  to  the  table) .  "  I'll  try,  little  one,  but  I'm  afraid 
there  aint  no  vacation  for  us.  The  fight  gets  harder  every  year. 
Oh,  I'm  too  tired  to  eat,  Jennie.  Well,  Allie,  how'd  y'  come  out 
T^dth  your  recital  t'  day  ?  " 

Alice  {putting  her  hand  in  his).  "Very  well,  father,  only  I 
wished  you  could  have  been  there." 

Edicards.  "  I  ^4sht  I  could,  but  I  can't.  I  got  'o  keep  goin'. 
Rent  an'  taxes  go  on  when  I  picnic,  but  wages  don't."  {Shoves 
hack  from  the  table  and  sits  dejectedly^ 

Linnie  {starting  upj).     "O  poj^pa,  a  man  put  a  bill  under  our 
door  that  said  Rent  on  it.    I'll  get  it."   {Brings  it  from  the  corner^ 
reads  it  slowly.) 
JLinnie  (reading). 

Dear  Sir : — At  the  expiration  of  your  lease,  July  Isr,  your  rent  will  be 
increased  five  dollars  per  month.    Please  notify  us  if  you  intend  to  remain, 

John  Xorcross,  Agent. 

Edicards.  "  Good  God  !  and  my  wages  cut  down  last  week. 
Haint  they  got  no  mercy,  these  human  wolves  ?  Haint  I  got  all  I 
can  stand  now  ?  Look  at  it  I"  {Booking  at  the  icalls.)  "  Look  at 
this  tenement !  Hotter,  rottener,  sliabbier,  but  rent  must  go  up. 
Jennie  I  Children !  I  don't  know  what  I'm  goin'  t'  do.  I  don't 
see  any  way  out ;  I  can  see  we're  bein'  crushed —  " 


Linnie  {going  to  him).     "  Don't  cry,  poppa,  don't  mind  him." 

{As  Edimrds  sits  thus  icith  bowed  head^  Jidian  Berg,  a  pale^ 
student-like  German,  enters  at  the  door.  He  is  accompanied  by 
a  full-bearded,  sinister-looking  man,  icho  stajids  hi  the  doorway^ 
stolidly  smoking  a  long  pipe.     Berg  holds  a  rent  bill.) 

Berg.  "  Aha !  Vat  say  you  now  ?  Is  it  nodt  dime  doo 
brotest  ?  Our  vages  is  reduced  dwice  alretty  in  four  years  —  te 
rendt  haff  been  raist  four  dimes.  How?  It  is  hell,  is  it  nodt? 
Vat  you  do  ?" 

Edicards  {vnthout  looking  up).     "  I  don't  know." 

Berg  {darkly,  looking  at  Alice).  "  I  know  vat  I  do.  I  magke 
brotest  so  I  shall  pe  heardt.  It  is  nodt  doo  be  born  wit.  I 
giff  in  my  name  to-night."     {He  starts  toward  the  door.) 

Alice  {stoppnng  ?iim).  "  Don't  do  that.  Keep  away  from  those 
Anarchists,  Mr.  Berg.  They  will  hurt  you.  They  don't  belong 
here.     Such  meetings  are  wrong  in  a  free  country  — " 

Berg  {turning).  "Free?  Free  doo  bay  rendt  in.  I  fly  from 
de  tyrandts  ofe  my  native  landt,  I  reach  a  free  landt !  Bah  !  I 
am  only  slave  under  anodder  name,  dat  is  all.  De  mardch  of 
feudalism  is  here  even.  I  say  there  is  no  free  blace  left.  Ledt 
dem  tage  care,  I  shall  fight.  I  am  a  volf  ad  bay.  If  I  fall  now, 
I  trag  someding  wit  me."     {He  starts  to  go.) 

Alice  {stopping  him).  "  Don't  go  with  those  men.  You're  not 
yourself  to-night.     Stay  with  your  mother." 

Berg  {moved  by  her  v-ord  and  hand  on  his  arm).  "  For  your 
sake,  I  vill  stay.     I  am  nodt  veil.      It  is  true." 

Alice  {recoiling).  "Ko,  no;  not  for  my  sake,  but  for  your 
mother's  sake." 

Berg.  "  For  you  haff  ask  me  I  stay."  {He  turns  to  the  figure 
at  the  door.)  "  You  hear,  I  go  nodt  oud."  {Figure  at  the  door 
goes.)     "  I  \4sh  to  dalk  mit  you  —  I  haff—" 

{Alice  stands  speaking  in  a  loio  voice  to  Berg.  At  last  he  nods.) 
«  I  promise  — ant  I  vill  gome  again  soon  ?  "      {Exit.) 

Alice  {turning  to  her  father) .  "Can't  something  be  done  — 
can't  you  strike?" 

Edwards  {spiritlessly).  "No,  we  can't  strike, —  at  least  it 
wouldn't  do  any  good." 

Alice.     "  Why  not  ?  " 

Edicards.  "  What  can  men  do  strikin'  with  families  as  I 
have  needin'  every  dollar  they  c'n  earn  ?  Rents  due  an'  no 
money  t'  pay  it  with.     I  don't  know  which  way  t'  turn." 

3frs.  E.  "Don't  give  up,  Jason.  We'll  git  along  some  way. 
We  can  move  into  a  cheaper  tenement, —  " 

Edwards  {indignantly).  "I  don't  want  y'  to  do  that,  Jennie. 
You're  low  enough ;  I've  been  hopin'  t'  move  into  a  better 
one." 


Alice  (resolutely/).  "  I'll  give  up  my  course  at  the  Conservatory 
and  go  to  teaching.     I'll  do  my  part." 

£dicards.  "  It  wouldn't  save  us,  m'  girl,  for  next  year  the 
rents  would  be  higher  an'  wages  lower.  It  aint  the  present  that 
scares  me,  it's  the /V^i^re.-'  I  could  pull  through  for  a  year  or 
two  if  'twant  for  the  turrible  uncertainty  of  the  future.  If  I 
should  be  laid  up  fr  a  month —  I'm  gettin'  old  an'  liable  t'  be  — 
I  don'  know  what  we'd  all  do.  John  jest  about  makes  a  livin' 
for  his  family  —  he  can't  help  us.  Linnie  must  go  t'  school,  an' 
Alice  mtght  to  go  on  with  her  music  —  " 

Alice  {Jirynly).  "No,  father,  I'll  give  up  the  Conservatory  for 
the  present.     I'll  find  something  to  do,  I'll  be  a  help." 

Linnie.     "  So'll  I." 

Echrards  (jyutting  his  arms  around  theni).  "  You're  a  help  to 
me  now,  Allie  ;  nothin'  cheered  me  more  all  day  long  than  the 
thought  o'  your  havin'  a  good  time  with  your  musical  friends." 

{Alice  has  a  thoughtful  look  on  her  face.  She  is  thinking  of 
Reeves^  and  his  question  and  her  answer.) 

Mrs.  E.  {with  a  sigh).  "What's  the  world  comin'  to,  Jason, 
when  hard-workin'  people  can't  make  a  decent  living?  " 

Edwards  {in  the  same  gloomy  tone).  "I  don't  know,  Jennie. 
I  tell  ye  I've  done  a  2)ile  o'  thinkin'  lately.  I've  looked  at  the 
whole  matter  fore  and  aft,  and  they  haint  no  other  way  to  it. 
It's  a  plain  case  o'  rents  goin'  up  an'  wages  goin'  down.  Ten 
men  fr  every  job  —  me  gettin'  old."     {A  long  jx' use.) 

Mrs.  Edwards  {hesitatingly).  "We  couldn't  go  back  to  Derry 
an'  go  to  farmin'  agin,  could  we?  They  say  they's  deserted 
farms  there  that  can  be  bought  — " 

Edwards  (bitterly).  "  TTV^y  are  they  deserted  ?  B'cause  people 
couldn't  make  a  hvin'  off  'em.  Can  we  do  any  better  ?  If  I 
was  a  young  man  —  if  you  was  young  and  the  girls  didn't 
need  schoohn',  they'd  be  jest  one  way  out  —  the  way  out  fr  so 
many  b'fore  us  —  I  mean  go  west  an'  get  free  land  and  start 
aginl" 

Alice  {feeling  her  icay).  "Why  don't  you  go  west  now? 
We'll  go  with  you.  I'm  sorry  we're  not  boys,  we'd  be  of  more 
use."  {With  groxcing  conviction.)  "Of  course  that's  the  way 
out !  Why  didn't  we  think  of  that  before,  mother  ?  Everybody 
is  happy  and  successful  that  goes  west  —  it's  the  refuge  for  all 
like  us.  Let's  go  this  very  summer !  Maybe  I  can  find  a  place 
to  teach  music  out  there." 

Edwards  {rising  and  going  to  his  coat).  "  Wal,  now  you've 
said  s'  much,  Allie,  I'll  own  up  I've  ben  thinkin'  a  good  'eal  of 
it  f  r  some  time.  I've  jest  about  wore  these  maps  out  lookin'  at 
'em.  {He  sxfreads  some  railway  maps  out  on  the  taUe^  and  they 
all  look  at  them.     He  grows  ejithusiastic.) 


Edwards  {pointing).  "  Now  here's  Boston,  an'  there's  Chicago, 
an'  you  follow  that  black  line  away  out  there  an'  that's  Boom- 
town  an'  free  land.  D'ye  hear,  mother  ?  free  land !  The  place 
we're  all  dreamin'  about !  " 

Linnie.     "  What  d'  you  mean  by  free  land,  poppa?" 

EdvKirds  (raising  his  head).  "Where  there  aint  no  landlords 
an'  no  rents.  Where  there  aint  no  rich  n'r  no  poor.  Where 
people  don't  live  in  holes  like  this.  Where  they  raise  such  ears 
o'  corn  as  that,  and  have  farms  like  that"  {holds  uj)  tvm  gay- 
colored  2^osters),  "with  cows,  an'  pigs,  an'  clover,  an'  brooks  near 
by,  full  o'  trout.  Mother,  I've  been  hungry  f 'r  a  farm  all  my  life ; 
let's  try  it  agen,  eh  ?  " 

3frs.  E.     "  Very  well,  Jason,  if  you  think  best." 

Linnie  {dancing  about),  "Oh,  yes,  let's!  I'm  tired  of  this  old 
city,  aint  you,  Alice  ?  "     {Alice  remains  strangely  silent  7ioto.) 

Edwards  {in  growAng  enthusiasm).  "  AYal,  now,  this  is  a  way 
out  of  it.  I  didn't  dare  t'  say  anything  about  it  f'r  fear  you'd  all 
say  no.  We'll  git  a  piece  o' that  free  land — Ed  Ruble  is  out 
there  an'  his  father  —  you  remember  old  Sam  Ruble,  Jennie  — 
an'  they  crack  the  country  up  great !  Of  course  we  won't  expect 
much  the  first  year  or  two  —  we'll  be  satisfied  with  a  log  house. 
We'll  build  near  a  river  somewhere  — " 

Alice  {corning  out  of  her  reverie).  "  Oh,  won't  it  be  delicious  to 
get  back  to  the  birds  and  bees,  and  trees  and  clouds  !  " 

3Irs.  E.  {catching  the  spirit).  "Yes,  if  our  house  aint  very 
much  it'll  be  ours.  We  can't  never  hope  to  have  a  home  of  our 
own  here  —  but  it'll  take  money  't  git  out  there,  an'  we  aint  got 
much  t'  spare,  Jason." 

Edwards.  "  We'll  manage  somehow,  now  we've  made  up  our 
minds.  We'll  have  t'  sell  off  our  furniture ;  't  won't  pay  t'  ship  'em 
way  out  there." 

Alice  {ruefully) .  "  Must  we  do  that,  father  ?  It'll  seem  horri- 
ble to  sell  our  dear  old  things.  They  aint  worth  much  in  money. 
Can't  we  store  them  and  —  " 

Edwards.  "  It's  going  to  take  every  cent  we  c'n  rake  an' 
scrape  t'  git  out  there  and  get  started,  Allie." 

3frs.  E.  "  Of  course  there  aint  no  other  way  —  don't  bother 
your  father,  AUce.  That  ol'  blue  chiny  set  th't  Captain  Bascom 
give  gran'raother  '11  bring  a  hundred  dollars  —  that  man  from 
Dawley's  offered  's  much." 

EdiiKvrds  {pondering  the  mapj).  "  There's  the  road  leading  to 
the  West,  to  wealth,  health,  and  freedom  —  hey,  mother?  Good- 
by  to  work  in  a  shop  !  Good-by  to  rent !  Good-by  to  the  filth 
and  noise  of  the  tenement !  We'll  go  west,  where  my  girl  \ seizing 
Linnie']  will  grow  up  strong,  and  sweet  as  a  Avild  rosebush.  I 
feel  as  if  a  pile-driver  had  rolled  off  my  neck." 


Alice  (^smiling).  "You  look  it,  father.  I  haven't  seen  you  so 
jolly  in  years  —  have  you,  mother?  " 

Limiie  (^with  a  poster  in  eodi  Jiand^  reads :)  "Harvest  ex  — 
excursions.  Go  by  the  Albeit  Lea  route.  Free  farms  in  the 
garden  spot  of  the  glorious  West." 

£dicards.  "  Mother,  what  was  that  old  song  you  used  to  sing 
about  going  West  ?  Something  about  '  O'er  the  hills  an'  prairies,' 
'r  sumthin'  like  that  —  buffalo  and  —  " 

{Ifrs.  Edmards  smiling^  Jnans  an  old  tune). 

Linnie.     "  Oh,  I  know,  '  O'er  the  Hills  in  Legions.' " 

(^Alice  goes  to  the  piano  ;  they  break  out  icith  the  icords  ;)  — 

"  Cheer  up,  brothers,  as  we  go 

O'er  The  mountains  we'^trvard  ho! 
While  herds  of  deer  and  buffalo  furnish  the  cheer. 
Then  o'er  the  hills  in  legions,  boys,  fair  freedom's  star 
Points  to  the  sunset  regions,  boys,  ha,  ha,  ha,  hal  " 

Edwards  flourishes  a  hurje  poster  in  one  hand,  holding  Linnie  with  the  other. 
Ends  by  "winding  poster  round  her  neck.  As  they  sing  the  second  verse,  Mrs.  M. 
comes  to  the  door  back,  and  looks  in.  in  icild  surprise.  Berg  is  also  seen.  As  the 
chorus  begins  the  curtain  goes  doicn. 

If  curtain  rises  again,  discover  them  all  seated  around  the  table.  Mrs.  J/., 
Berg,  and  all. 

Curtain. 


ScEXE  Second.  —  A  Boomee's  Dex. 

Five  rears  later.  Boomtown,  1S89.— Jtdy.  Office  of  Judge  Balser,  Land-agent  and  Attoraey- 
at-law.  Small  room,  bare  floor,  plain  plaster  walls,  with  maps  hung  here  and  there.  Three 
or  four  oSce  chairs.  A  table  in  the  centre  littered  with  papers  and  mk .  Door  and  two  win- 
dows at  back  looking  out  on  a  bright,  sunny,  quiet  street  of  small,  battlemented  wooden 
stores. 

Judne.  wearing  a  neat  summer  suit  and  a  neat  pearl-gray  plus,  is  seated  at  P.joht  Front,  his 
feet  on  the  desk  of  his  bookcase.  He  is  reading  aloud  and  smoking.  When  he  pauses  the 
silence  is  profound. 

Frank  Graham,  in  his  shirt-sleeves.  wearin3  a  neat  dark-bpown  suit  aad  a  derby  hat.  is 
seated  wi'h  his  back  to  the  Jud?e,  looking  out  of  the  door,  his  feet  on  the  table  in  the  centre. 
He  has  wicker  cuffs  on  his  wrists  and  bright-colored  armlets  above  his  elbows. 

Bank  Whiting,&lio  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  has  on  a  hickory  shirt,  without  collar  or  vest, 
wide  white  hat.    His  feet  are  on  the  window-sill  at  left  of  door. 

"  Tonguey  "  Tom,  similarly  attired,  is  seated  in  the  door-way. 

Curtai?i  rises. 

Judge  (^reading).  "'It  is  with  sorrow  therefore  that  we  see 
the  noble  profession  of  journalism  trampled  in  the  mire  by 
such  vandal  hoofs."  {Judge  pausing  and  hloicing  a  mhiff  of 
smoke.)  "Hoofs  aint  bad.  '  By  such  vandal  hoofs  as  those  ot 
the  editor  of  the  Belleplain  Argus.  Were  we  the  only  ones  to 
suffer  from  the  vile  vituperations  of  the  paltrv  poltroon  and  limit- 
less bar'— " 

Frank  {icithout  looking  around).  "Quite  a  Shakspearean 
touch  there.     Limitless  liar  is  immense.' 

Judge  {proceeding).  "  Limitless  liar  and  troglodyte  as  runs  or 
rather  craids.,  the  Belleplain  Argus.''  " 


Frank  (listlessly) .  *'  That  aint  bad.  A  new  hand  on  the  Pul- 
verizer. Don't  he  pay  his  respects  to  us,  the  major,  and  the 
Boomtown  Daily  Spike?'''' 

Judge  {y aiming  and  laying  down  paper).  "  That  feller  aint 
got  any  gall !  " 

Frank.     "Who  ?     Yanktown  Pulverizer  ?  " 

Judge  {rising  and  removing  his  coat).  "  No,  the  Argus.  It 
says  our  boom  is  busted.  Everything  on  the  down  grade.  And 
that  the  railroad  is  buying  largely  and  secretly  m  Belleplain." 

Frank  {stretching  and  yaioning).  "  Well,  it  is  purty  slow 
these  days." 

Whiting.     «  We'll  git  there,  Eli  —  after  harvest." 

Judge.  «  You  bet.  This  is  a  sort  of  a  breathing- spell  —  every- 
body letting  go  to  get  a  better  holt."     {Sits  again.) 

Frank.  «  What  I'm  'fraid  of  is  that  this  light  crop  is  goin'  t' 
down  a  lot  o'  these  fellers  like  John  Boyle  and  Jason  Edwards. " 
{in  the  drowsy  pause  a  chicken  cackles)  "  Say,  Judge,  you'd  better 
go  wring  the  necks  o'  them  chickens,  they  give  the  town  dead 
away.  They  sound  too  pastoral.  It  takes  the  wire  edge  off  your 
talk  about  street-cars  to  have  a  hen  cackle  m  the  weeds." 

Whiting.  "  That  wouldn't  faze  him.  He'd  swear  she  was  in 
a  coop." 

Frank  {after  a  pause.,  during  which  the  lazy  chuckle  of  a  loaded 
wagon  and  the  buzz  of  flies  on  the  windoirs  are  heard).  "  Boyle 
is  goin'  t'  fall  into  your  jaw  sure,  Judge,  and  Edwards  —  " 

Judge  {a  little  impatiently).  "Yes,  I  know.  They're  both 
cussm'  the  country,  but  what  could  they  expect  ?  Come'  out  here 
expectin'  t'  find  free  land  la^in'  around  loose?  A  man  can't 
start  in  a  new  country  without  money." 

Frank  {significantly).     "  Where  can  he  start  better?" 

Judge  {icheeling  about  in  his  sicivel  chair).  "That's  nothin'  t' 
do  with  it.  As  I  told  Boyle  when  I  sold  him  his  land,  you  c'n 
take  y'r  choice,  —  go  thirty  miles  from  a  railway  and  get  that  free 
land  you've  heard  about,  or  give  me  ten  dollars  an  acre  f  r  mine. 
He  took  mine.  It  was  his  own  choice.  Same  way  with 
Edwards.     A  man  ought  'o  stand  by  himself      " 

Frank  {musingly).  "  A  man  once  jumped  of  his  own  choice  into 
the  sea — only  the  steamer  was  on  fire — that's  all.  It  was  his  choice." 

Whiting.  "  Nasby  Blume  says  the  girl  gits  a  pile  o'  letters  from 
a  feller  in  Boston.  Nothin'.  like  bein'  postmaster  t'  find  out  such 
things.     Nasby  says  the  letters  kind  o'  fell  off  —  " 

Judge  {busy  at  desk).     "  Has  the  girl's  dude  ever  been   out  ?" 

Frank.  "  I  think  he  has  once  or  t^-ice,  but  I  didn't  see  him  ; 
drove  over  from  Belleplain,  I  guess — Hullo!  What's  this? 
Keep  quiet  —  sh !  " 

(  Ujicle  Johnson  meeting  Daddy  BuUe  just  outside  the  door. 


As  they  shake  hands  and  taJk\  the  Judge  sits  at  desl:  and.  inrites. 
Frank  ajol  Whiitin(f  icink  at  each  other  and  listen.  Johnson  is 
a  tall  man,  dressed  like  a  farmer.  Kahle  icears  a  seedy  suit  and 
a  ''>plug''  hat.) 

Uncle  Johnson  (icith  a  jug  in  his  hand  and  a  rake  on  his 
shoulder).     "  How  air  ye,  Daddy  ?      How's  this  f  r  high  ?  '' 

Daddy  {in  a  high  key).     "  Puity  high,  how's  the  craps?" 

Johnson  (jjutting  doica  jug  and  rake).  "  Purty  dry,  prnty 
dry.     Dry  an'  hot."     {3Io2js  his  face.) 

Ruble.   "  Purty  tiiff  on  the  farmers." 

Johnson  (as  they  seat  themselces  on  a  bench,  on  the  sideicalk 
under  the  icindow  through  ichich  their  heads  shoic).  '•  Spaicially 
^^-ith  sugar-trusts  puttin'  sugar  up,  and  Coal- Kings  reggelatin'  the 
price  o'  coal.      This  admin'stration — " 

Daddy  Ruble  {in  a  high  key).  "  Xow  go  on  !  Lay  the  weather 
to-  the  admin'stration.  Course  it's  the  fault  of  the  admin'stra- 
tion  I     Ecerytliing  kin  be  laid  to  the  admin'stration." 

Johnson  {icagging  his  head  violently).  "  Well,  it'd  help  us  t' 
pull  through  if  the  admin'stration  would  let  sugar  come  in  free, 
an'  wool  — " 

Ruble  {rising).     "  Oh,  go  on,  go  on  I  " 

Johnson  {sarcastically).  "  Oh,  I'm  goin'  on  ;  don't  you  worry! 
TTe  was  all  goin'  to  see  a  big  boom  when  this  —  " 

Ruble  {hotly).  "  You'd  lay  the  hot  wind  to  the  administration 
if  you  could,  you  ol'  fool." 

Johnson  {more  coolly).  "Set  down,  set  down,  an' don't  tear 
your  shirt.     You'll  hve  jest  as  long."     ( They  sit.) 

Frank  {laughing  silently  at  Whiting).  "See  them  two  ol' 
seeds!  They  think  they  run  Congress,  and  they  don't  neither  of 
'em  know  Jackson's  dead.  Xow  watch  'em,  they'll  fight  sure. 
Xow  listen  —  Johnson'll  wind  Ruble  up,  like  a  watch.  Xow  let 
her  go,  Gallagher !     They're  at  it !  " 

Johnsoris  voice  {rising  out  of  the  murmur  ichich  has  been 
going  on  during  Frank^s  talk).  "  What  I'm  a-sayin'  is  this.  We 
don't  get  no  protection  on  our  wheat  an'  too  dum  much  on  our 
sugar.     I  don't  believe  in  taxin'  the  many  fur  the  few." 

Ruble  {shaking  his  trembling  fist).  "  Shut  up,  you  old  copper- 
head !     You're  in  f'r  free-trade,  I  c'n  see  — " 

Johnson  {sternly).  "Set  down,  you  ol'  fool,  an'  talk  sense! 
When  I  corner  yeh,  y'  alwiz  go  off  —  " 

Ruble  {still  frantic).  "I  aint  a-goin' off .  Yeh  can't  corner 
nawthin'.     I'm  goin'  t'  stay  right  here." 

{Frank  and  Wliiting  laugh  silently  but  mightily.  Ruble  and 
Johnson  argue  in  dumb  shoic,  gesticulating  violently.) 

Frank  {to  the  others).  "  Xow  listen.  He's  goin'  to  rip  the  old 
man  up  the  back.     See  his  Uttle  game  ?     He  always  does." 


Johnson.  "  Did  you  make  it  worth  that  money?  Did  you  do 
anything  to  them  lots  ?  Aint  you  reapin'  where  you  aint  sowed, 
you  infernal  ol'  sponge?" 

Ruble  {excitedly  raising  his  cane).  "Don't  you  call  me  a 
sponge,  you  old  blag'ard." 

{Frank  going  to  the  door  to  stop  them.) 

Johnson.  "  I'll  call  you  a  sponge  all  I'm  a-min'  to,  jest  as  long 
as  you  live  off  somebody  else,  an'  if  I  don't  double  the  taxes  on 
you  speculators,  call  me  a  horse.  I'll  make  you  use'r  sell,  one  o' 
the  six." 

Ruble  {inild  icith  rage).  "You're  a  dummed  ol'  single  tax 
crank." 

Joh?ison.  "  Well,  that's  what  I  am,  an'  Fll  wind  up  you  specu- 
lators 'r  die  a-tryin',  as  the  fella  says.  You  can't  set  around 
here  on  your  pants  and  git  rich  out  of  — " 

(Ruble  makes  as  if  to  strike  him.,  Frank  goes  to  the  door.) 

Frank.  "  Hold  on  there  I  No  fighting  allowed  on  the  grounds. 
Daddy,  if  you  can't  keep  your  whipple-tree  off  the  wheel,  don't 
kick  out  at  the  dashboard.  Gentlemen,  both,  allow  me  to  inform 
you  that  General  Jackson  is  dead  and  that  the  cruel  war  is  over. 
In  the  words  of  our  great  General  '  Let  us  have  peace.' " 

{As  Johnson  turns  to  go  he  slyly  sicings  the  rakers  tail  around 
andknocks  Rubles  plug  hat  off.,  then  scrambles  away  out  of  sight. 
This  causes  a  general  shout,  at  the  close  is  heard  a  penetrat- 
ing pjeal  of  laughter.,  followed  by  others  in  rhythms  like  the  drum- 
onin.  I  of  a  pheasant.,  an  irresistible  chorus.) 

Frank.  "  Hello  !  Happy  Elliot  is  in  town.  Been  kind  o' 
hungry  f'r  his  laff  fr  a  week.     Here  he  comes." 

Enter  Elliot  {a  fat  man  with  a  red  face.  Ap)pears  at  the  door 
%chere  he  puts  his  hands  on  the  sides  of  the  door  and  laughs). 

Frank.  "Hello,  you  old  porpus.  How  do  you  stand  the 
heat?" 

Elliot  {putting  his  thumbs  in  arm-holes  of  vest) .  "  Poorty  nigh 
imsodders  me."  {Laughs.)  "  Hello,  Judge  !  Judge  allays  looks 
t'  me  like  a  red-headed  slick-bellied  ol'  spider  waitin'  f'r  flies." 
(Laughs.)     "  Oh,  see  that  linen  collar !  " 

Frank  {looking  out  the  window).     "  Sweat  some,  these  days? " 

Elliot.     "  'Bout  enough  t'  keep  me  from  season-checking." 

Frank.     "  How  d'ye  feel  anyhow?" 

Elliot.     "  All  broke  up  by  the  hot  wave  on  my  wheat." 

Judge  {elegantly  smoking).     "You  look  it." 

Elliot  {admiringly).  "Aint  he  a  daisy,  a  tulip?  While 
Edwards  and  th-e  rest  of  us  are  worried  about  to  death  over  our 
crops,  the  Judge  sets  here  cool  as  a  toad  in  a  cellar,  an'  haiwests 
hi:=?  mortgages  slick  's  a  cat  can  lick  her  ear." 

Judge.    ""  Foresight !  Nothin'  like  bein'  on  the  ground  first." 


Q)? 


Elliot  (to  Frank).     "  Has  he  got  a  heart  ? 

Frank.  "  Who  ?  Judge  ?  Na-a-w  !  His  heart's  only  a  little 
hydraulic  ram."  (  Whiting  and  Elliot  laugh.  Judge  goes  on 
icriting.)     "  Set  down,  set  down,  live  as  long." 

Elliot.  "  Wal,  this  w^on't  do  f  r  me.  I  must  go  and  look 
after  my  crop — I  mean  the  Judge's  croj).    See  yeh  later."  {Exit.) 

Whiting.  "That's  right,  get  a  move  on  yeh.  Elliot  sheds 
trouble  like  punkins  off  a  hay-stack." 

Frank.  "  His  laugh  's  as  good  as  a  brass-band  ;  everybody's 
got  'o  keep  step."     {Begins  to  sing.) 

"  There's  a  boomin'  ol'  boomer 
On  the  lake  beloAv, 
Oh,  how  I  long  to  see  that  day ; 

Up  to  his  neck  in  the  brimstone  flood  — " 

{Breaks  of  looks  out  the  idndoio  .)     "  Great  Caesar's  ghost !  " 
Judge  and  Whiting  ask  languidly.     "  Dog-fight  ?" 
Frank.     "  A  plug  hat  — " 
Judge   and    Whitmg  {in  great  excitement).     "What!    what! 

what!  what!" 

Frank.     "  Tailor-made  suit." 

Judge.     "  Xo  !" 

Frank.     "  Yes." 

Jicdge.     "  No  ;  it  can't  be." 

Frank.     "  I  say  yes." 

Judge.     "  WheVe,  for  heaven's  sake  !  " 

Frank.     "  Coming  up  the  street !     Coming  here  !  " 

( They  crowd  over  one  another  to  look  out  the  icindow  without 
heinq  seen.) 

The  Judge  {devoutly).      "  Thank  heaven  !  " 

{As  the  rest  seat  themselves  the  Judge  goes  to  a  Ug  hook  and 
studies  in  it  intently.  As  Walter  Reeves  enters  Judge  turns  to 
Frank,  saying,  as  if  continuing  a  conversation  :)  "Xo,  Graham, 
I  can't  let  vou  liave  that  lot  for  any  such  figger.  Why,  it's 
worth  a  thousand  dollars  if  it's  worth  a  cent."  {Xods  carelessly 
at  Beeves.)  "  How^  de  do,  how  de  do!  Take  a  seat.  See 
you  in  a  minute.  Xo,  I  can't  —  "  {Telephone  hell  rings, 
Jud(i6  rises  and  goes  to  the  receiver.)  "Hello,  Sherman 
House  ?  Oh,  all  right,  Billy.  Xo.  Seventeen  ?  All  sold,  Billy. 
Awfully  sorry  —  I  ^ay  I'm  sorry,  but  the  Standard  Oil  took  the 
whole  bus— .  What's  that?  Oh!  three  thousand,  unbroken 
lot.  What  ?  What  they  going  to  do  with  it  ?  Going  to  put  up 
a  warehouse.  I  say,  is  Godfrey  there  yet?  Godfrey?  All 
right.  Graham  is  here,  and  has  offered  seven  fifty  for  the  lot 
on  sixteen.     I'll  sell  at  nine  hundred  cash.    All  right.    Good-by." 


{Bell  rings.)  "  Godfrey  ?  All  right,  let'er  go  !  Eight  fifty  ? 
Can't  do  it,  Godfrey.  Eight  seventy-five  ?  All  right ;  come 
around."  {Tarns.)  "  I  hated  to  sell  that  lot  at  that  figger,  it's 
worth  more  money.     Can't  I  suit  you  with  another  lot  ?  " 

Frank  {gravely).  "No,  I  wanted  that  identical  lot.  It's 
handy.  I  don't  want  any  lot  on  the  north  side  anyhow."  {Bell 
rings  again.) 

Judge  to  Beeves.    "  You'll  excuse  me,  won't  you  ?  " 

Beeves  {assuming  a  confiding  air).  "Certainly.  Don't  allow 
me  to  interfere  with  your  business.     I  just  dropped  in  to  ask  —  " 

Judge  {at  the  telephone).  "  Sherman  House  ?  All  right.  About 
No.  Fourteen?  Hold  on  a  minute,  I'll  see.  Graham,  look  up 
No.  Fourteen,  corner  lot  near  the  park." 

Frank  {turning  the  leaves).     "  All  sold  but  one  lot." 

Judge  {significantly  to  Frank).  "  Say,  Graham,  what's  going 
on  down  at  the  Sherman  House  ?  Some  nigger  in  the  fence  ? 
They  won't  ketch  this  weasel  asleep.  Can't  be  they've  got  wind 
of  the  railway  plan  — " 

{Bell  rings  sharjjly.)  "  Wait  a  minute,  can't  you  ?  Hello  I  I 
can  let  you  have  one  lot  —  can't  say  now.  Call  me  up  again  in 
a  few  moments.  All  right,  good-bye."  (  To  Frank.)  "  I'll  jest  call 
up  the  Major  and  see  what's  going  on."  {Bings  bell.)  "  Hello  I 
Gimme  the  Spike  office.  Hello,  Major !  Say,  Major,  anything 
in  from  Hall?  What?  You  don't  say !  Good.  I'm  onto  the 
snap.     Good-bye." 

Judge  sits  dovm  and  dashes  off  a  telegram.  "  Here,  Tom, 
take  this  down  to  the  office.     Can't  trust  the  telephone  on  this." 

Beeves  {still  in  affectedly  simple  vmy).  "  Business  is  rawther 
brisk,  I  take  it."     {Exit  Tom.) 

Judge  {carelessly).  "Oh,  pooty  fair  —  but  I've  got  some  dandy 
bargains." 

Beeves.  "  I  just  dropped  in  to  ask  if  you  could  get  me  a 
good  —  " 

Judge.  "  Certainly.  Get  you  anything."  (  Gets  hook  and  takes 
it  to  Beeves.)  "  Now,  there  is  a  lot  on  nine  that's  a  jim  dandy. 
Dirt  cheap,  at  that.  That  lot  is  bound  to  be  worth  two  thousand 
dollars  before  snow  flies." 

Beeves.     "  You  don't  say !  " 

Judge.     "You  bet  it  is." 

Beeves.     "  What's  going  to  make  it  so  ?" 

Judge.  "  Why,  the  boom  on  this  town.  Look  at  the  lines  of 
road  —  seven  lines  of  road  running  into  the  town,  and  a  grade 
that  -will  be  ironed  this  fall.  And  then  there  is  the  plow  factory, 
capital,  hundred  thousand, —  grist-mill  going  up —  " 

Frank.     "  And  the  twine  factory  y'  know." 

Judge.     "  That's  so !     One  o'  the  biggest  schemes  in  the  north- 


west  —  millions  of  tons  o'  flax  burned  every  year  —  millions  o' 
pounds  o'  twine  bought  in  every  harvest  —  now  a  stock  company 
is  formed  ;  theyVe  bought  Xo.  Ten,  entire  —  five  thousand  dollars 
—  and  put  up  works  costing  seventy-five  thousand — " 

Reeves  {in  mock  siinplicHy).  "Very  intristing  indeed.  But  I 
fancied  you'd  tell  me  about  this  timber-claim  matter.  I  bought 
a  claim  of  a  fella  a  short  time  ago,  don  t  you  know,  and  when  I 
saw  it  to-day  it  hadn't  a  tree  in  sight." 

Jadye  {xjlo.cidhj^  irldle  Frank  laughs).  "  A  timber-claim,  my 
dear  sir,  is  not  a  claim  T^-ith  trees  on  it,  but  one  on  which  the 
government  wants  trees." 

Beei-es.     "  Yo'  don't  say  !  " 

Judge.     "  I  do  say." 

Beeves.  "  But,  you  know,  the  fella  said  the  timber  would  be 
immensely  valuable  after  a  few  years." 

Frank  {much  amused).  "  So  it  will,  fifty  years  from  now,  when 
you've  growed  it." 

Reeves.     "  Then  according  to  that,  you  tliink  I'm  done." 

Frank.     *' Done  brown.     Xo  mistake." 

Judge  {carelessly).  "Xo  doubt  of  it.  Got  to  keep  an  eye  out. 
Xow  to  get  out  o'  this  scrape  you'd  better  invest  with  me.  I've  got 
a  lot  here  that  is  bound  to  go  up.  On  Main  Street.  See  !  It's 
worth  two  thousand,  but  I'll  let  you  have  it  at  seventeen  fifty, 
seeing  you  were  let  down  by  that  other  fellah." 

Reeves.  "  Verv  kind  of  vou.  But  what's  to  make  it  go  up  as 
you  say  ?  " 

Judge.  "  Why,  the  boom  in  the  town,  the  people  coming,  and 
the  scarcity  of  land.     See  I  " 

Reeves.  "  But  there  isri't  a  scarcity  of  land  I  I  never  saw  so 
much  land  in  my  life.  By  George  I  it's  astonishing  what  a  coun- 
try you've  got  here,  and  such  high  prices  I  I  thought  this  was  the 
country  of  free  land." 

Frank.  "  Oh,  that's  one  o'  the  lies  we  print  in  our  papers  to 
bring  people  out  here.     It's  free  at  so  much  —  see!  " 

Reeves  {resuming  his  alert  manner  and  crisp  voice).  "Yes,  I 
see,  all  that  and  a  good  deal  more.  I  see  you're  a  set  o'  land- 
sharks,  and  live  off  the  industry  of  the  town.  You  can't  give 
me  anv  points  on  that.  I  make  it  my  business  to  down  such 
fellows.'' 

Frank  {leaping  up).     "What?  you!  lookin'  as  you  do?" 

Reeves  {ccdmly).  "  Looking  as  I  do.  See  how  my  hair  stands 
up.     I've  seen  the  cat." 

Frank  {icith  a  glow  of  friendliness).  "  So've  I,  gi'me  y'r 
hand."  ( They  shake  and  keep  shaking.)  "  You  look  like  a  dude, 
but  you've  got  the  grip  of  an  honest  man.  I  don't  know  where 
ye  come  from  but  I  know  where  ye'll  go  to.     Thunder  an'  blue 


mud  !  why  didn't  you  say  so  before  I  "  {Judge  slips  out.)  "  Goin' 
t'  stop  long  in  town  ?  " 

Reeves.     "  Yes,  several  days." 

Frank,     "  Visiting  friends  ?  " 

Reeves.     "  Yes,  the  Edwards  family." 

Frank  {ichisths).  "Oh,  I  see!  Certainly!  You're  that 
du — ced  good  fellow  from  Boston."  {Taking  him  hy  the  hand.) 
"  Success  to  you,  comrade.     She's  a  bonanza." 

Reeves  {smilitig).     "Thank  you." 

Frank.  "  Prospected  'round  there  myself  till  I  saw  'twant  no 
use,  —  claim  pre-empted.  Case  of  monopoly,  see  ?  Say,  look 
here,  send  your  things  right  over  to  my  house.  I  keep  open 
house  for  such  chaps.     Xot  a  word,  got  'a'  be  done." 

Reeves  {going  to  the  telephone).     "Well,  if  you  insist." 

Frank.     "  You  bet  I  insist." 

Reeves.  "  All  right.  I'll  just  ring  up  Billy  down  at  the  Sher- 
man House."     {Turtis  crank.      Tom.,  looking  at  vjindoic^  grins.) 

Frank  {smothering  his  laughter).     "I  would." 

Reeves  {still  turning  crank).  "  What  the  deuce  do  vou  call 
this  thing  ?  " 

Frank  {shouting).     "Coffee-mill." 

Reeves  {still  grinding).     "Well,  so  should  I." 

Frank  {laughing  yet).  "Oh,  let  up  on  it!  That's  only  an 
innocent  little  joke  for  roping  in  tenderfeet.  But  never  mind, 
I'll  jest  send  a  boy  around." 

Reeves.  "  Xow  look  here !  You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that 
that  telephoning  was  all  bogus  ?  " 

Frank.  "  That's  what  it  was.  There's  a  button  under  the 
table  there  that  rings  the  bell.  See?"  {Pushes  button  and  the 
hell  rings.) 

Reeves  {in  blank  surjyrise.      Whiting  goes  off  laughing), 

"  Well,  for  ways  that  are  dark 
And  tricks  that  are  vain, 
The  western  land-shark  is  —  oriorinal." 


Frank.  "  Almost  equal  to  stock  gamblers.  Well,  how's 
things  in  Boston  ?  By  the  way,  I  don't  know  your  name.  Don't 
make  any  difference  —  handier,  that's  all." 

Reeves.     "  Walter  Reeves,  Daily  Events.^"* 

Frank.  "  Mine's  Graham  —  Frank  Graham.  Say  !  "  {Looks 
around.,  sees  Tom.)  "  Tom,  you  run  down  to  the  Sherman  and 
tell  Billy  to  send  Mr.  Reeves'  things  up  to  my  house."  (Exit 
Tom.)  "  Old  man,  if  I  wasn't  a  married  man,  that  girl  of  yours  — 
well,  let  that  pass.     I  congratulate  you." 

Reeves  {gravely).  "  Graham,  can  you  tell  me  anything  about 
how  things  are  going  with  them  this  year  ?" 


Fran'k.     "  Yes,  they're  going  pretty  hard." 

Reeves.     "  I  feared  so.     In  what  way"?  " 

Frank.     "  In  all  ways.'' 

Reeves,     "  They're  needy  as  ever  ?  ' 

Frank.  "  Well,  they're  poor  enough.  But  that  girl  —  well, 
she's  the  mainstay  of  the  family  now.  She's  all  that  keeps  'em 
np.  Old  man,  why  don't  you  step  in  there  and  give  'em  a  lift  ? 
Excuse  me,  but  I  can't  help  saying  that.'' 

Reeves.     "  I  wanted  to,  years  ago,  before  they  came  west." 

Frank.     "  And  she  objected  ?  " 

Reeves.     "  Yes,  she  objected.'' 

Frank.     "Why?" 

Reeves.  "  Oh,  I  don't  know  —  sort  of  pride  I  Edwards  is  one 
of  these  men  who'll  die  in  the  harness,  and  go  under  the  wheel 
before  he'll  give  up,  and  she  has  a  good  deal  of  the  same  spirit." 

Frank.  "  I  see  I  Obstinacy,  we  call  it  here.  Well,  if  they 
don't  have  a  good  crop  this  year  I'm  afraid  he'U  go  under  the 
wheel,  sure.  "He's  failing.  By  the  way,  want  my  team  to  drive 
out  with  ?'' 

Reeves.     "  You  are  a  friend  indeed.*' 

Frank  {looking  out  of  the  irindoic).  ••  Xothin'  too  good — Hello ! 
My  wife  coming  to  call  me  to  dinner.  Lucky  I've  got  you  ^Wth 
me  to  keep  her  off."  (Frank^s  icife,  a  pretty  young  girl^  appears 
at  the  ivindow  as  they  go  to  the  door.  Frank  introduces  Reeves 
in  dumb  shoio  outside  and  they  go  off.  A  moment  of  quiet ^  then 
enter  Judge,  stranger,  and  Tom.) 

Judge.  "Now  you  just  wait  a  moment  and  I'll  ring  up 
Griggs."  {Rings  telephone  htU.)  "Hello?  Gimme  Griggs  and 
Mullens.  Griggs?  Well.  Griggs,  I've  got  an  offer  for  your  lot 
of  seven-tiftv  —  take  it  ?  Better  take  —  nice  man  —  grocery. 
What  ?     Take  it  ?     All  right,  it  goes." 

Curtain. 


Scene  Third. —  A  Mid-day  Peaikie. 

A  small  shantv  on  a  wide,  sea-like  expanse  of  shimmering  plain.  Not  a  tree  or  shrub 
is  in  sight.  In  hollow  back  of  the  house,  a  vellow  field  of  grain.  The  house  stands  on  the  left; 
on  the  nsht  is  a  well  and  small  granarv.  The  well  has  a  wheel,  and  two  buckets,  and  a  jellow- 
piine  curCins.  At  the  back  right  are  hav-stacks  and  sheds,  and  above  and  beyond  them  the 
mottled  prairie  stretches  infinitelv.  flooded  with  a  hot,  yellow  glare  of  light.  It  is  about  two 
o'clock,  and  in  the  shadow  cast  bvthe  little  shanty,  the  action  takes  place.  The  occasional  flute- 
lite  note  of  the  prairie-lark  is  heard,  and  the  sound  of  fowls. 

Curtain  discovers  Alice  seated  in  a  Imo  rocking-chair,  near  a 
little  stand,  in  the  shadow  of  the  house.  She  seics,  looking  often 
away  on  the  pAain.  Linnie  is  singing  inside.  Wlien  curtain  is 
icell  up,  Linnie  comes  out  and  takes  seat  on  door-sill. 


Linnie.  "My  goodness!  Aint  it  hot!  Phew!  I  hope 
mother  won't  try  t'  come  home  before  sundown.  Do  y'  s'pose  he 
got  in  last  night,  Allie  ?  " 

Alice  {wearily  laying  her  ^c or Jc  down).  "  Oh,  I  don't  know, 
I  don't  know !  I've  looked  so  long  across  this  endless  prairie 
that  my  eyes  ache.  I  can't  look  any  more."  {Rising.)  "  Come 
and  look,  dear.  Isn't  that  a  team  ?  there,  see  I  just  rising  the 
hill  bej'ond  the  school-section." 

Linnie  {looking  aicay).  "  Yes,  that's  a  team.  You  c'n  just  see 
the  buggy-toj)." 

Alice  (nervously).  "  Oh,  if  it  shouldn't  be  Walter  this  time  I 
should  sink  with  disappointment.  See  how  plainly  the  team  can  be 
seen  now!  1  hwic  it's  Walter.  How  swiftly  and  how  silently 
it  comes."  {Putting  her  hands  to  her  eyes.)  "Oh,  this  plain,  this 
plain !  It  is  so  vast  and  so  lonesome,  there  is  no  place  so  dreary 
to  watch  and  wait  in.  It  is  so  pitiless,  so  beautiful,  and  so  impas- 
sive, like  a  dead  sea.  It  crushes  me  —  I  think  it  will  make  me 
crazy." 

Linnie  {her  chin  in  her  ^^cdms).    "  I'm  sick  of  it,  too.     It's  bad 
as  livin'  back  on  Pleasant  Street." 
Alice.     "  Almost,  not  quite." 

Linnie  {firmly).  «  I  do'  know.  I  wish  I  could  hear  the  little 
German  band  play  as  they  used  to,  an'  see  the  circus  parades  and 
the  boys'  regiment  on  the  common.  A  monkev  and  a  hand-organ 
just  now  would  be  gorgeous !  Oh,  I'm  so  tired  o'  this  hot  "old 
prairie.  I  w4sh  I  was  a  fairy  ?  Do  you  know  what  I'd  do  ?  " 
Alice  {with  eyes  distract).     "No,  dear." 

Linnie  {icith  enthusiasin).  "  I'd  cause  a  great  big  hill  all  covered 
with  real  trees  to  spring  up  right  out  there.  And  I'd  have  a 
waterfall  on  it,  and  deer  in  it,  and  I'd  have  a  fence  around  it  and 
charge  a  dollar  f  walkm'  around  it,  and  a  quarter  f'r  lookiu'  at  it, 
wouldn't  that  be  a  bonanzy  ?  " 

Alice.     "  Why,  child,  what  an  idea." 

Linnie  {calmly).      "  Frank  Graham  says  that's  the  American 
idea  —  the  fellow  that  owns  the  land  always  gets  there.     Oh,  I 
wish  that  team'd  hurry  up.     I  don't  know  which  I'd  ruther  die  of, 
lonesomeness  out  here,  or  starve  t'  death  in  Boston."  {Looks  off.) 
Alice  {imlking  about,  looking  aioay).  "I  think  it  must  be  Walter. 
He's  at  the  second  moggason  now.     I  hope  it  is  !  " 
Linnie  {shortly).     "What  y'  goin'  t'  do  if  it  is  ?  " 
Alice  {stopping  short  in  a  sort  of  7ieio  terror).     "Oh,  I  don't 
know !    I  haven't  thought  so  far." 

Linnie  {with  j^ositive  inflection).  "I  know  what  L\l  do.  I 
wish  a  Boston  editor  was  comin'  after  me,  I  bet  I'd  go  quicker'n 
scat." 

Alice  {turning).     "  Linnie,  what  do  you  mean  by  —  " 


Linnie  (decidedly).  "2Iean  what  I  say.  I  never'll  marry  any 
of  these  men  and  live  out  here,  if  —  I  —  I'd  ruther  die  an  old 
maid  in  Boston  than  have  forty  husbands  out  here." 

Aiire  {with  an  effort  to  he  calm).  "  I  am  afraid  to  meet  him — I 
wish  I  knew." 

Linnie  {looking  ainay  again).  "  I  wish  J  did,  but  I  don't.  He's 
drivin*  f'r  home,  whoever  he  is.  He's  in  a  hurry,  f  r  a  hot  day, 
and  he's  a-gitt'n'  there.  I  hope  he  won't  stay  t'  supper  anyway. 
There  aint  any  bread,  and  it's  too  hot  t'  make  biscuit.  Aint  it 
awful  on  the  grain  ?  I  can  see  father  out  there  walkin'  about  in 
the  wheat ;  he  don't  do  nothin'  else  lately  but  watch  the  wheat 
an'  the  sky."  {^Alice  starts  to  go  in.)  «  AYhy  don't  y'  wait  and 
see  who  it  is  ?  " 

Alice  {in  groxring  excitement).  "I  must  go  in.  I  can't  stand 
out  here  and  stare  at  him  as  he  comes." 

Linnie.  "All  right;  I  can  stare  enough  f'r  two.  I'm  goin'  t' 
stand  rio'ht  here  and  see  who  it  is.  Teams  are  too  scarce  on  this 
prairie  to  lose  the  excitement.  Mebbe  it  aint  Walter,  anyhow, 
but  they'll  stop  and  get  a  drink  o'  water.  Frank  Graham  says  he 
don't  see  what  there  is  wonderful  about  the  water  in  our  well,  but 
there  must  be,  f'r  all  the  young  fellows  in  the  county  drive 
around  this  way  t'  git  a  drink.     I'm  sure  I  don't  understand  it." 

Alice.     "  Linnie,  how  can  you  joke  ?  " 

Linnie.  "I  don't  know'm  sure.  Effect  of  the  ozone  in  the 
air,  as  Frank  says." 

Alice  {going  in).     "  You'll  tell  me,  dear,  won't  you?  " 

Linnie.  "  Yup.  I'll  keep  my  eye  on  him.  Say,  Allie,  here 
comes  father  with  a  jug  t'  get  s"m  water." 

Alice  {in  the  dooricag).  "  Don't  say  anything  about  my  looking 
for  Walter,  to  him.  I  want  to  see  him  alone,  and  then  he  7)iag 
not  come  —  please  don't  say  anything,  will  you  f "' 

{Linjiie 2nits  her  arm  about  her  and  7iods  her  head^  ichispering 
to  her.  Alice  goes  in.  Edwards  comes  on  right.,  jug  in  his 
hand.,  tchich  he  proceeds  to  fill  at  the  icell  with  a  dipper.  ILe  is 
very  gloomy.  LLe  is  without  coat  or  vest  and  his  hickory  shirt 
is  \net  with  siceat.) 

Linnie  {going  to  him).  "  How  is  the  haying,  father?  Poor 
poppa,  how  hot  you  are  ;   come  and  sit  down  here  in  the  shade." 

Edwards  {taking  off  his  hat  and  irApAng  face).  "They  aint 
no  rest  for  me,  my  daughter.  If  I  should  set  around  in  the 
shade  my  girls  wouldn't  have  any  home  soon.  Rain  'r  shine  I've 
got  'o  keep  goin'  "  (  in  a  low  \'oice)  "  till  I  drop.  Where's 
mother  ?  " 

Linnie.     "  Over  t'  Mrs.  Elliot." 

Edwards.     "  Where's  Alice  ?  " 

Linnie.     "In  the  house,  Iving  down,  I  guess." 


Edwards  {tenderly).  "  Poor  girl,  she  ought  'a'  stayed  in  Boston. 
I  don't  know  what  we'd  'a '  done  without  her,  but"  she  aint  fit  t' 
live  here  —  it's  killin'  her."  ( Groans.)  "  3Iy  God  !  aint  there  no 
restin'  place  f  r  us  ?  "  (  Scans  the  clouds.)  "If  it  would  only  rain, 
only  rain."  {Takes  vp  his  jug  and  starts  otF,  Linnie  looking  at 
him  tearfully.)  "  Dry  as  ashes  I"  {He  goes  off.  Zinnie  iroiches 
him.,  then  turns  and  gazes  aicay  left  as  before.) 

Linn ie  {calling) .  "  Allie,  Allie,  it  is  Walter,  no  other  man  would 
wear  a  plug  hat  out  here.  He's  alone,  and  he's  got  Frank's 
team.     I  know  every  horse  on  this  road." 

{Seats  herself  coolly  on  the  doorstep  and  listens  to  the  apprroach- 
ing  wheels.     Sound  of  voice  speaking  to  horses.) 

{Enter  Beeves.  Alice,  seeing  him  from  the  door,  hesitates,  then 
goes  to  his  opjen  arms.     He  kisses  her.) 

Reeves.  "What's  this?  Crying?  Why  I  thought  you'd 
laugh  when  you  saAv  me."  {Raises  her  face'^to  his.)  "  It's  your 
guilty  conscience.  Little  woman,  that  face  shows  care  —  life'  out 
here  is  killing  you." 

Alice  {smiling  again).  "  I'm  only  crying  because  —  I've  longed 
to  see  you  —  I've  watched  the  road  oh,  so  many  hours,  Walter. 
It  was  too  much  to  expect,  but  I  thought  you'd  come.  It's  so 
lonesome  here."     {E:dt  Linnie.) 

Walter  (quizzically,  looking  down  at  her).  "  Your  letters  didn't 
read  that  way,  I  can  tell  you  that ;  they  were  cold  and  formal 
enough." 

Alice.     "  I  didn't  dare  write  what  I  felt." 

Reeves.     "  Why  not  ?  " 

Alice.     "  Oh,  because  I  was  afraid  I  " 

Reeves.     "  Afraid  I'd  come  and  get  you,  eh  ?  " 
^  Alice  {evading  him).    "  Don't  ask  me  now.   Let  me  enjoy  your 
visit  without  thinking, —  tell  me  about  dear  old  Boston.     Sit  here 
while  I  get  you  a  drink.     You  must  be  thirsty." 

Reeves  {tenderly,  smilingly).  "Yes,  thirsty  for  the  sight  of 
you."  {Alice  goes  into  the  house.  Reeves  walks  about,  glcincing 
keenly  at  all  points  of  thepAain.)  "  So  this  is  the  reality  of  the 
emigrant's  dream !  The  homestead  in  the  free  West,  the  house 
beside  the  river  embowered  in  trees  ! 

A  wide  dun  land  where  the  fierce  suns  smite, 

And  the  wind  is  a  furnace  breath  ; 
"Where  the  beautiful  sky  has  a  sinister  light, 

And  the  earth  lies  dread  and  dry  as  death: 
"Where  the  sod  lies  scorching,  and"  the  wan  grass  sighs, 

And  the  hot,  red  morning  lias  no  birds — 

My  God  !  what   a  place   for   my  beautiful  girl  —  for    anybody's 
girl, —  a  wide- walled  grave." 

{Alice  enters  with  a  glass  which  she  fills  and  hands  to  him. 


He  (Jrinl's^  saying :)  "  In  a  land  like  this  the  gift  of  water  must 
mean  as  it  does  with  the  Arabs,  the  highest  hospitality.'' 

Alice.     "  I  can't  say  how  much  I  —  we  —  shall — "' 

Reeves  {putting  his  arm  about  ?ier).  "  Don't  try.  It  I  had 
only  known  your  real  feelings  —  but  how  could  I  from  those 
letters?"  {Looking  ojf  left.)  "What  in  the  world  is  that  girl 
doing?  She's  unhitching  my  team!  I'll  stop  her."  (^£^x.  1, 
talking  to  Linnie.) 

Alice  {(Calking  about).  "  How  can  I  let  him  go  again?  Have  I 
the  strength  ?  But  I  must,  I  must  I  I  can't  leave  father  now,  at 
the  height  of  his  terrible  struggle.     I  must  stay.'' 

Walter  {re-enters  icith  Linnie,  holding  her  by  the  hands).  "I 
suppose  this  is  Linnie  —  anyhow  the  little  witch  was  unhitching 
my  team ;  another  minute  and  she  might  have  had  a  runaway." 

Linnie  {scornfully).  "Runaway  nothing  !  What  do  you  take 
me  for  ?     Allie  and  I  hitch  up  the  horses  and  go  out  in  the  fields 

—  we  plow,  and  drive  harvester  —  and  we  help   shock  the  wheat 

—  don\  we,  Allie  ?  " 

Reeces  {surprised^.  "  Do  yoit  do  that  ?  With  this  hand,  that  I 
used  to  love  to  watch  on  the  piano?  O  horror  I  "  {Strokes  it.) 
"  Poor  bruised  little  hand."     {Kisses  it.) 

Linnie  {goes  orf  in  mock  disgust).  "  Girls  like  me  don't  count. 
My  hand  can  get  -weU  itself  f  r  all  you  care.  Wal  'n  so  it  goes." 
{Goes  into  house.) 

Reeces.     "  And  you  live  there  ?''  {pjointing  at  house.) 

Alice.     "  Yes,  with  my  people." 

Reeves.     "  Through  your  horrible  winters  ? '' 

Alice  {quietly).  "  Yes,  and  there  are  days  when  that  hut,  poor 
as  it  is,  seems  like  a  palace.  Last  winter  it  seemed  as  if  the  snow 
would  never  tire  of  slidmg  to  and  fro  on  the  plains.  Days  and 
days  we  were  shut  up  here.'' 

Reeves  {deeply  affected).  "Heavens, what  a  prison  I  And  yet  I 
saw  dozens  not  so  good  as  I  came  along." 

Alice  {quietly).     "We  lived  in  tJai.t  sod-shanty  a  year." 

Reeves  {lifting  his  head).  "  And  this  is  the  free  and  glorious 
West!  Oh,  it  makes  me  wild  to  think  of  you  living  there  —  it's 
worse  than  the  tenement-house." 

Alice  {frmly  but  sweetly).  "There  was  no  other  way.  They 
couldn't  have  lived  without  me.  My  little  teaching  has  kept  us 
in  groceries,  and  besides,  there  have  been  days  when  father  was 
too  lame  to  work  and  I  have  worked  in  the  fields,  and  taken  care 
of  the  cattle  in  the  barn  —  " 

Reeves  {seizing  her  hands).  "Don't  tell  me  anymore  —  I'll 
rage  —  I'll  swear." 

Alice.     "  We  must  bear  it." 

Reeves  {savagehj).     "Bear  it  I     7  won't  bear  it.     I'll  expose 


the  whole  infernal  matter  in  a  four-column  leader.     I'll  smash 
the  next  boomer  that  says  free  land  to  me.     Free  land!  if  this  is 
gettmg  free  land,  what  the  devil  — " 
Alice  {stop2ntig  him).     "  Hush,  hush !  " 

Reeves  {freeing  himself).  "  I  say,  if  this  is  free  land  what  in 
the  devil  Avould  you  call  high-priced  land  ?  The  settler  pays  for 
his  free  land  all  that  makes  life  worth  living  ;  these  families  have 
purchased  their  bare  and  miserable  acres  with  blood  and  sweat 
and  tears.  Free  land !  Bah  !  For  a  century  there  has  been  no 
free  land  in  America." 

Alice  {trying  to  he  calm).  "I  know  it,  but  it  only  makes  it 
worse  to  think  of  it." 

Reeves  {quickly).  "Forget  it,  then,  for  I've  come  to  take  you 
out  of  it.  Hush,  now!  Not  a  word.  I've  let  you  spoil  five  of 
the  best  years  of  my  life.  You  sha'n't  say  a  word  —  I  must  be 
heard  now." 

Alice.     "  I  can't,  I  daren't  let  you  go  on  —  I  —  " 
Reeves  {sternly^  almost  angrily).     "Alice,  you  can  and  you 
must  —  I'm  master  now."  * 

Alice  {repulsing  him).     "You're  7iot\     You  go  too  far — " 
Reeves.     "Alice,  listen.     I  didn't  mean  that — forgive  —  " 
Alice  {with   stern  resolutio7i).      "You   did  —  you    meant   it. 
Listen  to  me." 

Reeves  {goi7ig  on  impetuously).  "  I  wiYHisten,  when  you  talk 
sense.  I  won't  be  put  off  any  longer.  You  must  decide.  If  you 
refuse  —  " 

Alice  (^feeling  a  covert  threat).  "  What  then  ?   Suppose  I  do  ?" 
Reeves.     "Then  we  never  see  each  other  again.     There  is  a 
limit  to  my  patience  — be  careful !  " 

Alice  {feeling  his  earnestness).  "  Yon  are  the  one  to  be  care- 
ful! You  are  unjust.  Am  I  here  to  please  myself?  You're  harsh, 
unfeeling  —  " 

Reeves  {iimrningly) .     "Alice,  Alice!  " 

Alice  {panting  with  emotion).  "It's  true!  Does  my  suffer- 
ing count  for  nothing?  My  sacrifices?  I  see  and  feel  all 
that  you  feel  —  and  more.  I  feel  that  I  can't  leave  my  parents, 
and  I  won't  leave  them  —  now  —  while  they  are  old,  and  poor, 
and  need  me  so.  You  have  no  right  to  expect  —  " 
Reeves.  "  What  good  has  your  sacrifices  —  " 
Alice  {going  on  siciftly).  "  See  these  hands  —  you  don't  know 
the  half.  I  plow,  I  milk  the  cows ;  every  hand  is  needed  on  the 
American  farm.  There  is  no  law  against  child  labor  or  woman 
labor  there!  But  I  could  bear  all  this  if  yon  did  not  sneer  —  if 
you  appreciated  my  sacrifices."  {Reeves  hows  his  head.)  "  I  didn't 
expect  that  from  you,  Walter."  {In  softer  mood.)  "  Wait  another 
year  —  be  patient ;  father  may  yet  — " 


Heeves  {rousiyig  up).  "I  don't  mean  to  be  hard,  but  you  forget 
my  side  of  it  all.  You  forget  how  long  I've  waited.  Another 
year  and  one  of  us  may  be  dead ;  a  railway  accident,  a  stray 
bullet  in  the  street,  and  we  may  be  cheated.  Alice  !  Alice  !  Don't 
send  me  back  again  with  empty  hands ;  don't  do  it.  I  can't 
stand  that ;  I  won't  try.''  {She  mal:es  no  moveme/it.)  "  What  is 
life  worth  out  here  —  in  this  desert  ?  " 

Alice.     '•  Xothing,  but  I  must  live  it." 

Beeves.     "  What  do  you  hope  to  do  by  it?" 

Alice.     "  Xothing.     I'm  past  hope ;  I'm  only  enduring." 

Beeves.  "  Alice,  are  you  crazed  ?  Has  the  silence  and  loneli- 
ness of  this  plain  — " 

Alice.     "  I  don't  know.     Don't  press  me." 

Beeves  (in  despair).  '» You  are  sacrificing  us  both,  and  all  to 
no  purpose.     Answer  me,  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

Alice  {flaming  up  again).     "  Stay  here !      Wait  I  " 

Beeves  (i?i  (lesjminng  rage).  "Then  you  don't  care  for  me; 
if  you  did  — " 

Alice  {shrinJting).     "  Walter,  you  have  hurt  me  !"' 

Beeves  {leaping  hastily  toirard  her).  "Forgive  me,  I  didn't 
mean  that  I  Don't  mind  me,  I'm  wild.  Alice,  you  must  not  send  me 
away.     It  is  the  law  of  life  for  daughters  to  leave  their  pdrents." 

Alice  {in  a  dull.,  hutfrm  tone).  "  It  is  not  the  law  of  mg  life. 
The  walls  of  the  beautiful  home  you  offer  me  could  never  shut 
out  the  thought  of  their  sorrows  and  privations.  In  the  thunders 
of  Brahms  and  Wagner,  I  should  hear  the  wild  wind  blowing 
around  this  cabin  here."     {ZTnclasping  his  hands.) 

Beeves.     "  But  think  —  think." 

Alice  {turning  wildly).  "  TYnViZ.'.^  I  ^<  c/ /rethought  till  my  brain 
whirled.  In  the  awful  silence  of  this  praii'ie,  you  can't  help  but 
think.  I've  grown  old  in  thinking.  I  seem  to  have  lived  three 
years  in  one.  I  saw  my  father  toiling  in  the  fruitless  fields,  my 
sister  growing  up  in  ignorance,  the  splendor  of  the  great  world 
of  music  lost  to  me,  you  lost  to  me  !  I've  thought,  and  thought., 
till  death  would  be  a  relief." 

Bee"es.  "  Give  it  up  to  me,  dearest.  Let  me  help  you.  Let 
me  take  care  of  you  —  all.     I'll  put  your  father  on  his  feet — " 

Alice  {icith  love  in  her  face).  ^''1  kneic  you'd  saj^  that.  You 
meant  it  all  the  while.  But  he  would  never  consent.  He's  so 
proucl — stubborn,  if  you  will  —  when  he  bends  he  will  break. 
Mother  no  longer  comforts  him,  he  turns  to  me  for  comfort  and 
s^Tiipathy.  He  needs  /ne  more  than  he  needs  money.  Xo,  dear, 
there  is  no  present  help  for  it.  You  must  go  back  to  your  splendid 
life  in  the  city,  and  I  must  stay  to  help  my  father  tight  his  almost 
hopeless  battle.''  {She  raises  her  hand.)  "  It  is  useless,  cruel  to 
say  more.     I  have  my  father's  pride — " 


Beeves.  "  And  his  wilfulness ;  but  I  loill  not  leave  you  so." 
Alice  {irith  a  look  of  iron  resolution).  "Walter,  you  must.'' 
{They  stand  cmd  face  each  other  in  silence.,  gazing  into  each 
ether  s  eyes.  It  is  a  battle  of  wills.  There  is  no  yielding  in  her 
steady  eyes.  At  last  he  turns  in  a  sudden  anger  and  starts  away. 
She  relaxes,  her  head  sicays,  her  eyes  close ;  but  as  he  turns  v:ith 
a  look  of  great  sorrow,  extending  his  arms,  "Alice,  Alice, 
love  !"  she  resumes  her  implacable  mood,  lifting  her  hand  and 
speaki7ig  the  single  word  "  duty  !  "  He  bows  h  \s  head  and  goes  out. 
She  stands  long  gazing  after  him,  silent,  her  wide  eyes  fixed  on 
the  horizon,  then  melts  like  a  figure  of  snow,  falling  without  icord 
or  sound.) 

Curtain  sloidy  falls. 


ScEXE  FouETH. —  A  Settler's  Harvest. 

Lajidscape  as  before.  It  is  later  and  the  sun  is  lower.  Clouds  are  seen  in  the  distance.  It  is 
very  still  the  crickets  are  chirping  drowsily.  Mrs.  E.  sitting  as  if  wearied,  has  her  bonnet  on 
and  IS  rocking  to  and  fro  in  the  chair.  Alice  is  seated  with  her  work  before  her%ilentlylookii^ 
out  on  the  plain.    Linnie  is  washing  potatoes.  ^^ 

3Trs.  E.  "  Linnie,  girl,  did  you  shut  up  the  little  turkies,  as  I 
told  you  to?"' 

Linnie  {in  the  doorioay).  "Yes,  mamma,  but  you  needn't 
think  it's  going  to  rain.     I  b'lieve  as  father  does,  it  can't  rain." 

Mrs.  E.     "  Where  is  he  *? " 

Linnie.     "  Looking  at  the  wheat,  I  guess." 

Mrs.  E.  {sighing).  "Well,  1  guess  you'd  better  start  a  fire, 
Linnie,  and  make  some  biscuit." 

Linnie.  "Oh,  it's  too  hot  to  start  a  fire.  Let's  eat  bread  and 
milk  t'  night." 

IL's.  E.  "  No,  your  jm  ought  'o  have  a  good  supper ;  he  haint 
hed  much  appetite  lately.     I  do'  know  what  keeps  him  up." 

Alice  {turning  suddenly).  "Mother,  Linnie,  don't  tell  father 
of  my  —  of  him  —  not  to-night ;  he's  got  all  he  can  bear  now..  I 
dont  want  him  to  know  anything  about  it,  not  just  yet." 

Linnie  {takes  up  the  potatoes  she  lias  been  w.ashing,  and  goes  in. 
Mrs.  E.  turns  to  Alice).  "  I  know  what  Mister  Reeves  wanted, 
AUie,  dear." 

Alice.  "  Yes,  he  wanted  me ;  he  came  expecting  me  to  o-o 
back  with  him." 

Mrs.  E.     "  Poor  child,  I  wish  you  could  go." 

Alice  {' dm ost  fiercely).  "  And'  leave  you'all  here  on  the  prairie 
to  starve  and  die?  And  father  almost  crazy. —  I'm  not  so  heart- 
less as  that !  "  {Rising,  and  prressing  her  hands  to  her  head.  ) 
"But,  oh,  I  don't  see  why  the  world  should  be  so  cruel — I  don't 
see  why,  if  God  is  good,  life  should  be  such  a  ceaseless  battle  I " 


J//'.?.  E.  {sighing  deeply^.  *'  I  don't  see  how  we  could^X  along 
without  you.    Why  didn't  he  stay  t'  supper  an'  see  Jason  i  " 

Alice  {sternly').  "  Because  I  sent  him  away  —  I  couldn't  hold 
out  much  longer.  O  mother,  mother  I ''  (  Goes  to  her^  and  lays 
her  head  in  her  kip.)  "  I  must  be  right,  for  I  have  given  all  I 
hoped  for,  to  do  this.'' 

Mrs.  E,  {stroking  her  hair).  "  I'm  afraid  you  Avas  wrong,  I'm 
afraid  so." 

Alice  {brokenly).  "I  know  what  you  mean,  mother.  O 
mother,  I  sent  him  away  —  without  a  kiss !  I  didn't  dare  be 
tender,  I  was  so  weak.  Oh,  will  the  night  of  poverty  never  lift  ? 
Is  this  the  whole  of  life,  for  us  to  toil,  and  moil,  and  die  on  this 
hot,  drear  plain  ?  " 

Mrs.  E.  {;resignedly).     "  I  s'pose  it's  the  Lord's  will,  Allie.  " 

Alice.  "  I  don't.  The  Lor«i  is  good  ;  men  and  men's  laws  are 
bad.  God  never  created  us  for  such  lives  as  this.  He  never  in- 
tended we  should  lack  any  good  thing," 

Mrs.  E.     "  How  you  talk  I     Surely  we  can't  complain." 

Alice  {going  on).  "  AVe  are  not  here  because  He  asked  it,  but 
because  men  push  us  out.  Everyrv^here  men  are  pushed  to  the 
wall ;  everywhere  the  poor  work  and  get  nothing  — " 

Mrs.  E.  {rising).     "There,  there,  child,  don't  you — " 

{A  voice  is  heard  faintly  singing:) 

"  The  South  may  sing  of  her  su-u-u-n-i-i-i-y  clime ; 

The  East  of  her  hoarded  weahh  .  .  .  '  . 
But  the  West,  the  West,  the  beautiful  West  ....     ♦ 

I  can  see  thee  in  my  dreams ; 
From  a  far-off  soil  my  feet  have  trod 

I  can  see  her  laughing  streams." 

Elliot  {enters  right.,  goes  to  irelU  takes  dipjpjer  of  mater.  Xods 
to  Alice).  "  Hot,  aint  it  ?  Nothing  special  in  this  water  ?  "  ( :^ips 
rneditaticely.,  laughs.  Linnie  comes  to  the  door .)  "  I  s'pose  no 
man  under  fifty  can  find  the  dipper.  Haf  t'  ask  for  a  glass.  Oh, 
I'm  onto  their  little  game  I  "  {Laughs.  To  Mrs.  E.)  "You'd 
better  think  agin  before  refusing  my  offer  on  the  '  spark  arrester.' 
Anotiier  year  and  you'll  be  over-run  by  'em.'' 

Linnie  {corning  toicard  him).  "  What  m  the  world  are  you 
talking  about  ?  " 

Elliot.  "  Spark  arrester  —  prevents  trouble  —  arrests  all 
sparks — indispensable  to  all  mothers  of  girls."  {I^aughs.  Linnie 
turns  in  disgust.)  "  Hot,  aint  it  ?  ^yhich"d  vou  rather  do  'r  go 
a-fishin'?" 

Linnie.     "Goa-fishm'." 

Mrs.  E.  "  Oh,  I  do  so  long  for  fish  !  I'd  give  anA-thing  for  a 
good  fresh  lobster.'' 

Elliot.     "  Lobster  I  I'd  as  soon  eat  a  t'rantler." 


Alice  {putting  on  a  icide  hat).  "I'll  go  call  father,  mother." 
(  Goes  sloidy  out.) 

(  Voice  heard  again  singing  nearer^ 

"  Don't  you  see  the  dark  clouds  risin'  ober  yander? 

Don't  y'  tink  wese  gwine  t'  hab  a  rain, 
Oh  yes,  as  sure  as  shootin' 
There's  the  lightnin'  scootin' 

Like  wese  gwine  t'  hab  a  jimmycane!  " 

{Enter  Frank  Graham  and  Judge  Balser  in  huggy.  Frank 
is  in  his  shirt  sleeves.,  his  feet  on  the  dash-board^  and  is  very 
comfortable.  As  the  Judge  pulls  %ip.,  Frank  goes  into  the 
chorus  pointing  at  the  clouds.) 

"  Look  away  there  now,  suthin'  gwine  drap ; 
Look  away  there  —  thunder  aint  it  warm ! 
Lightnin'  bugs  a  scootin', 
Thunder  guns  a  shootin', 
Bet  —  your  —  life  we're  goin'  t'  have  a  storm." 

{Leaps  out  and  comes  forward  greeting  Mrs.  E.  and  Linnie., 
gives  a  prodigious  start  at  seeing  Elliot.)  "  Ett  too,  Brooty  ? 
Great  Ceesar,  has  it  come  to  this !  That  a  man  of  your  weight 
m  the  community," —  ( To  Liimie.)  "  Will  you  bring  me'  a 
glass  ?  " 

Elliot  {shaking  with  laughter).  "Why  here's  a  dipper  in  the 
bucket.     That's  too  thin." 

Frank  {in  great  surprise).     "  Why  so  there  is !  " 

Elliot.     "  Same  old  trick." 

{Linnie  hands  Frank  a  glass^he  turns  the  water  from  cup  into 
glass  and  drinks.)  "  Thanks,  a  sweeter  draught  from  a  fairer 
hand  was  hardly  ever  quaffed.  I'm  a  married  man  now  and  I'm 
obliged  to  modify  my  words."  (  To  3Trs.  E.)  "  How  is  your 
health  these  days?" 

Mrs.  E.     "  Not  very  well.     How  are  your  folks  ?  " 

Frank.  "  Oh,  so's  t'  be  round.  I  tell  'em  we  might  as  well 
laugh  as  cry ;  it'll  rain  jest  as  quick,  mebbe  a  little  quicker." 

{Re-enter  Alice.)     "  How  de  do,  ^Miss  Edwards." 

Alice  {greets  him  and  the  rest  quietly^  then  says  to  the  Judge)  : 
"  I'd  like  to  speak  with  you." 

Judge  {elaborately) .  "  Desire  is  mutual,  I  assure  you."  {As  he 
and  Alice  move  forward^  Frank  and,  Linnie  remain  at  the  well. 
Elliot  ojid  3Irs.  E.  converse^  p)ointing  at  the  sky.) 

Alice  {appealingly).  "Judge,  can't  you  be  easy  on  father  this 
year?  Can't  you  let  the  mortgage  run?  And  the  interest?  It 
seems  as  if  he'd  go  crazy  with  worry.  Oh,  if  you  only  could  — 
wait  till  another  crop  — " 

Judge  {hastily).  "  I  should  be  very  glad  to  do  so,  Miss  Edwards, 
if  it  was  possible ;  but  you  see  I've  nothing  to  do  with  the  busi- 


ness.  I'm  only  an  agent  of  the  syndicate.  There  are  thousands 
of  other  farmers  in  the  same  fix,  and  if  I  let  one  go  they'd  all 
want  — "' 

Alice  {despairingly).  "  Then  take  the  land.  Don't  delude  us 
with  the  idea  of  ownership,  when  there  is  only  slavery  — '' 

Judge.  "  But  we  don't  irant  the  land.  "We've  got  more  land 
now  than  we  know  what  to  do  with.  All  we  want  is  the 
interest  on  mortgages." 

Alice  {muses^a  moment.  Elliot  is  heard  laughing.  At  last 
Alice  lifts  her  face).  "I  see  !  It  pays  better  to  let  us  think  we 
own  the  land  than  it  would  to  pay  us  wages.  We  work  cheaper. 
You're  right  I  Your  system  h  perfect  —  and  heartless.  It 
means  death  to  us  and  all  like  us.  We  are  homeless  again."' 
(  Claspin q  her  hands  in  agony.)  "  Homeless  and  almost  hopeless. 
O  father  I" 

{Buries  her  face  in  her  handkerchief  and  goes  out.) 

Frank  {(conderingly).  "  Now  I  wonder  what  all  that  means. 
Well,  we  must  vamoose.  Good-day,  Mrs.  Edwards.  You  tell 
Jason  that  I'll  stand  between  him  an''  the  .Judge  if  it  takes  a  leg.'' 
(  To  Linn ie.)  "  Aw  ressy^'ore,  Miss  Linnie."  ( To  Judge ^ as  they 
go  out.)  "  A  day  of  reckoning  is  coming  for  you,  you  infernal 
old  blood-sucker." 

(As  they  drive  off  his  clear  young  voice  takes  up  another  song.) 

"  So  look  out  there.  Judge,  suthin'  gwine  to  drap. 

Look  out  there,  better  peel  y'r  eye ; 
Speckylation  fallin', 

Speckylation  fallin', 
Farmers  gwiue  okkypy  de  Ian'." 

Elliot.  "  Well,  I  must  be  moseyin'  back  home.  I  tell  yeh  it's 
goin'  to  rain."     {Exit.) 

Mrs.  E.     "  Can  y'  see  y'r  pa  comin'  ?  " 

Linnie.  "  Yes,  he's  coming  with  Alice.  Oh,  dear,  what  shall  I 
have  for  supper  ?  "     (  Goes  in.) 

{Enter  Alice  and  Edwards.  He  has  a  handful  of  blighted 
wheat  in  his  hand.) 

Alice  {trying  to  cheer  him  up,).  "It's  going  to  rain,  father,  I 
know  it  is.  See  the  clouds  gathermg  over  there  in  the  west. 
We'll  hear  the  thunder  giant  begin  to  walk  pretty  soon."' 

Edwards  {sinking  into  a  seat^and  staring  at  the  heads  of  wheat 
in  his  hands).  ''Bain  !  It  can't  rain  now.  Them  clouds'll  pass 
right  by,  jest  as  they've  done  f"r  the  last  six  weeks.  See  that 
wheat  out  there,  swash  like  water?  Y'  wouldn't  think  t'  seek 
from  here  thet  the  ground  was  dry  an'  hot  as  ashes  —  but  it  is. 
Rain  !  A  man  migh^  pray  an'  pull  till  his  eyes  dropped  out  an' 
he  couldn't  draw  one  cloud  an  inch  nearer.  We  might  jest  as 
well  give  it  up."     {Flings  the  wheat  to  the  ground.) 


Alice  (2)leading loUh  him^  her  orin  on  his  neck),  "Don't  give 
up  now,  father.  Please  don't  talk  so,  it  hurts  us.  Mother,  talk 
to  him  —  cheer  him  up." 

Mrs.  E.  (in  a  dull  iilacid  icay).  "Can't  you  eat  sumpthin', 
Jason  ?  Linnie,  I  guess  we'll  leave  the  table  inside  t'night,  it's  a 
little  cooler  since  the  sun  went  under  the  cloud." 

Alice.     "  Let's  fight  just  as  long  as  we  can." 

Edioards.  "  It  aint  no  use,  AUie,  my  girl,  everything's  aginst 
us.     Everything  — " 

Alice  {^plckiiig  up  the  loheat).     "But  if  the  rain  comes  now?" 

Ed/icards.  "  It  can't  save  it.  See  them  heads  —  an'  then  jest 
see  them  white  spots  in  the  field." 

Alice  {after  looking  vnth  tecirful  eyes).  "I  see  them,  what 
does  it  mean  ?  " 

Edwards  {sloidy^  bitterly).  "  It  means  blight.  It  means  my 
third  crop  is  burnt  to  ashes.  It  means  failure,  that's  what  it 
means.     It  means  the  foreclosure  of  that  morgige.  " 

Alice.     "  Is  there  no  hope  ?  " 

Edicards.  "  IS'o.  We're^n  the  jaws  of  a  machine.  We  was 
squeezed  out  o'  Derry,  we  was  squeezed  out  o'  the  city,  an'  now 
we're  bein'  squeezed  out  for  the  last  time  in  a  territory  o'  free  land. 
I'm  jest  about  ready  to  quit.     I've  lost  my  grip." 

Alice  {at  her  vnts*  end).  "  Oh,  I  wish  I  could  do  something — 
say  something  to  help  you  !  It  frightens  me  when  vou  begin 
to  fail." 

Edwards.  "  There's  a  quarter-section  o'  wheat  dry  enough  t' 
burn  —  a  field  of  empty  heads  —  empty  as  my  hands  when  they 
ought  t'  be  as  heavy  as  my  head  feels.  Oh,  I  can't  stand  this  !  " 
{Hises,  2Kices  to  and  fro  in  agony.,  then  sits  again  xoith  head  in 
hands.) 

Mrs.  Edicards  {from  the  door).  "Come,  Jason,  and  have  s'm 
tea  —  it'll  do  y'  good." 

Edwards  {wit/iout  raising  his  head).  "I  can't  eat.  I  don't 
feel  as  if  I  could  ever  eat  another  mouthfle  as  lonor  as  I  live." 

Alice.     "  Try  to  eat,  for  our  sakes." 

Linnie  {coming  out).     "  Come,  poppa,  the  tea's  most  ready." 

Edwards  {after  a  pause) .  "It  aint  no  use,  Jennie,  childern  ! 
I've  got  to  the  end  o'  my  rope.  We've  tried  our  last  chance 
an'  we've  failed.  This  is  the  upshot  of  our  dream.  The  great 
free  West !  Free  t'  starve  in.  Just  as  a  desert  is  free.  I've 
strained  every  muscle  all  my  life  and  this  is  the  result  of  it. 
If  the  blight,  'r  the  frost,  'r  the  drouth  didn't  take  m'  crop,  taxes, 
an'  the  railroads,  and  the  landlords  did.  Every  year  puts  us 
deeper  in  a  hole." 

{Alice  is  stroking  his  hair.,  Linnie  has  buried  her  face  in  Mrs. 
Edicards''  Icqy.) 


"  My  life  is  a  failure.  Jennie,  y'r  mother  an'  me  have  worked 
every  well  day  of  our  lives,  rain  'r  shine,  winter  'r  summer ;  we 
aint  had  the  necessities  t'  say  nuthin'  of  the  luxuries  o'  life. 
Rents,  an'  fuel,  an'  food  went  up  an'  up,  an'  wages  down,  an'  then 
we  tried  our  last  chance,  an'  here  we  are." 

{Faint  far  aicay  is  heard  the  boom  of  thunder.) 

Linnie  {leaping  up).  ^^Ilarh!  It's  going  to  rain  sure!" 
{Runs  to  the  corner  of  the  house.) 

Edwards  {in  the  same  tone).  *' The  poor  house  is  the  next 
thing.  My  strength  is  almost  gone.  Old  and  worse  than  use- 
less.    Life  aint  worth  livin',  jest  work,  work  till  y'  die." 

3Irs.  E.     "  Can't  we  sell  an'  go  back,  Jason  ?  " 

Edtmrds  (bitterly).  "  Sell !  We  aint  got  nuthin'  t'  sell,  and  if 
we  had,  nobody'd  buy  in  this  God-forsaken  country.  No,  there 
aint  DO  place  left  'cept  —  " 

{Boom^  Boom^  Boom.) 

Mrs.  E.  {rising).     "  I  believe  it  will  rain  !  " 

Linnie  {dancing  about).  "  I  knoio  it  will !  O  Allie,  come  and 
see  how  fast  the  clouds  are  coming."  {Stage  darkens.)  "  Oh,  how 
dark  it's  gettin' —  oh,  oh,  oh,  I'm  afraid  !    It's  goin'  to  lightning." 

Alice  {joining  her  at  the  back).  "It's  only  a  sudden  wind- 
shower.  Isn't  it  grand?  See  that  gigantic  dust-colored  cloud 
rolling  before  the  wind !  It  reaches  almost  across  the  whole  hori- 
zon. It  ^Y\\\  be  here  in  a  moment.  It's  going  to  blow  frightfully 
and  it  is  going  to  rain,  father." 

{Boom^  Boom.,  Boom.) 

{Stage  darkens^  figures  groio  dim.) 

Edwards  {loithout  rising).     "It's  too  late  to  save — " 

3Trs.  E.     "  I  must  shut  the  windows."     (  Goes  iii.) 

{  Crash^  boom^  boom.  A  far-aioay  crescendo.^  appalling  roar  is 
heard.,  accompanied  by  a  hissing  sound.) 

Alice  {fascinated  by  the  sight).  "How  it  sweeps  on.  Isn't  it 
grand,  Linnie  ?  See  how  the  clouds  roll  and  spread !  What 
majesty  of  motion  !  See,  Linnie,  that  dusty-gray  veil  behind  the 
storm-cloud  is  the  falling  rain.  How  like  the  sea  the  plain  is 
now !  The  clouds  rush  against  each  other —  Oh,  see  that  mon- 
strous swirl,  father !  "  {As  she  speaks  theroar  deepens.)  "  See  !  it 
looks  like  a  vast  eye  —  a  yellow-green  Ught  streams  from  its 
centre.  Look,  a  beautiful  silvery- white  veil  falls  from  it  and  trails 
along  the  ground  —  it  shimmers  like  snow !  Hear  it  roar ! 
father,  what  is  it  ?  " 

Edwards  rises  and  rushes  to  her  side.  The  hissing,  roaring 
sound  deepens.,  nears.  Alice  lifts  Iter  face  in  inquiry.,  Linnie 
flies  to  her  mother  v:ho  has  joined  them. 

Edv:ards  cries  hoarsely,  "  In  with  ye,  quick  !  " 

Mrs.  E.  and  Linnie   retreat  to  the  dooricay.     Alice  remains 


by  her  father' s  side.  Edtcards  with  set  and  sidlen  face  made 
limdhy  the  lightning's  yellow -green  glare,  lifts  his  hand,  half 
groans,  half  irnjyrecates  : — 

"  Hail,  by  the  livin'  God  I  " 

The  lightning  again  fashes.  The  storm  and  the  wind  rushes 
xipon  them  carrying  away  the  roof  of  the  kitchen  icith  a  crash. 
Edwards  is  seen  to  fall  with  Alice  clinging  to  him,  and  amid 
the  screams  of  the  women,  the  roar  of  the  wind  amd  hail,  dark- 
ness faUs  on  the  scene. 

Curtain, 


ScEXE  Fifth. —  A  Game  of  Quoits. 

A  cool  and  dewy  morning  in  Boomtown.  A  side  street.  At  the  centre,  bark,  is  the 
DiacKsmith  shop  of  Ole  Kettleson,  its  battlemented  end  standine  to  the  street.  At  the  left 
IS  a  vacant  lot.  and  over  it  the  plain  is  seen  in  the  distance,  with  here  and  there  small  cot- 
tages. The  vacant  lot  is  grown  up  to  wild  sun-flowers,  now  in  their  finest  Moom.  To  the 
ngbt  of  the  shop  is  a  lumber-pile,  and  over  it  the  plain  and  skv.    The  crickets  are  chirping, 

On  the  right,  forming  a  third  of  the  side  of  the  stage,  is  the  ••  Wamburger  Grocer}-."  On  the 
left,  similarly  situated,  is  the  "  Oat  Bin  Saloon."    There  is  a  side  door  in  the  saluon. 

The  buildings  are  all  battlemented,  and  are  painted  white  on  the  front.  The  blacksmith- 
shop  is  unpainted.    Before  it  a  group  of  men  are  good-natured iv  disiJUting  over  a  game. 

The  men  are  mainly  in  their  shirt-sleeves,  and  wearing  broad,  areasv  white  hats.  Frank 
Graham  wears  a  derby  hat  and  dark  clothes,  his  coat  being  laid  aside.  Judge  is  dre^ised  wir'i 
usual  studious  neatness,  and  takes  little  part  in  the  affair,  smoking  daintilv  as  he  watches  the 
game.  Elliot  has  no  vest  and  no  hat  on,  and  his  hickorj- shirt  is  rolled  to"the  elbows.  A  red 
handkerchief  is  tucked  into  his  suspenders.  The  rest  have  a  similar  bandanna  around  their 
necks  or  tucked  into  their  hip  pockets. 

The  door  of  the  shop  is  open  and  icithin  the  smith  is  dimly 
seen  and  the  sound  of  his  hammer  is  heard.  As  the  curtain 
rises  the  crowd  are  bent  around  a  p>eg  at  the  left.  Frank  is  at 
the  right,  poising  to  throio  his  last  horse-shoe.  '  Tomjjkins,  with 
legs  wide  apart,  and  hands  in  pockets  is  near  him.  Frank  yells 
warn  inghj. 

"  Stand  away  from  there,  you  fellers,  you're  too  previous. 
I've  got  another  shoe  yet.  Xow  watch  ^me  make  a  ringer. 
^Tioo  —  oop  !  "  (  Throws,  and  cuts  a  capjtr.  The  rest  all  rush 
for  the  peg.) 

All.     "  It's  a  tie,  a  tie  I  " 

Frank.  "  Tie  nothin' !  That's  mine.  Oh,  come  off !  hold  on  ! 
Measure  it,  Tonguey,  leave  it  to  Tonguey."  {Tonguey  picks  up  a 
straw  and  measures  it  carefully .) 

Elliot.     "  Careful  now !  Xo'thumbin'  that  shoe." 

{Tonguey  rises  and  kicks  the  shoes,  nodding  at  Frank  who 
hoicls  and  pummels  Elliot  on  the  back.) 

Frank.  "  Xo  bulldozing,  Tonguey,  you  old  jumbo.*'  (  T7ie 
blacksmith  comes  to  the  door  arid  looks  on.) 

Elliot.     «  Wal,  that's  one  on  me.    Let  'er  go,  Smith." 


Frank.  "  All  right ;  here  goes  for  a  hubl)er."  (  Throxcs. 
Shoe  rolls  out  of  sight.     JFrayik  ichistles  to  it.) 

Elliot  {shouting  icith  merriment^.  ''Put  a  bell  on  that  shoe, 
Tonguey,  it'll  get  lost.  Now  see  7ne  put  a  ringer  on  that  peg." 
{JIakts  elaborate 2yi'^2^(t''*^^^^^^i  turning  the  shoe  round  and  round 
in  his  hand.) 

Frank  (icildlg).  "See  him!  He's  witching  the  shoe.  Say, 
let  up  on  that  hoodoo  business,  or  I'll  —  " 

Elliot  {throws^  shouting).     "  A  hubber,  a  hubber !  " 

Frank.  "'Tis,  hayl  I'll  fix  it."  {Throics  seco/id  shoe  and 
knocks  the  other  doicn^  rushes  after  it.) 

Elliot  (excitedly).  "  Watch  him,  Tonguey,  watch  'im."  {Pre- 
jKires  to  throic,  leaning  far  over.)  "See  me  plat  this  right 
inside  'em  both."  ( Throws^  and  as  he  rushes  for  the  peg^  Frank 
sjyrings  before  him  and  they  go  round  and  round  the  stake.) 

{Frank  croicding  him  aicay^  and  calling  icildly :) 

••  Measure  it,  Tonguey,  measure  it  —  I  must  —  "  {Here  he 
slips  out  of  the  icay  and  Elliot  rolls  on  the  ground.  All  roar 
icith  laughter,  but  Tonguey  gravely  takes  up  Elliofs  shoes  and 
handa  them  to  him.  Frank  and  Elliot  noio  retire  to  the  other 
peg  while  their  partners  throw.  After  each  throw  they  croicd 
over  the  peg  to  see  ichich  shoe  is  Clearest,  encouraging  the 
others  by  word,  and  action.) 

Frank.  "  Now,  partner,  knock  that  hubber  off,  'r  I'll  dock 
ye."  {Partner  throws,  Elliot  fans  it  back  with  his  hat.)  "  Aw  I 
no  good.     A  little  more  steam,  Hank." 

Hank.  "  Waal,  that  air  hoodoo's  scarin'  m'  shoes."  (  Throws 
again.)     "  How's  that  ?  " 

Frank.  '•  That's  better,  but  you've  got  to  stand  by  me  a  little 
better  or  we're  beat."  {Elliot  roars  and  picks  up  his  shoes. 
Pte'-es  enters  rear  and  stands  looking  on.) 

Elliot.  "  That  makes  us  ten,  twelve's  the  game.  Here  goes  f  r 
two."     ( Throws.      Yells  with  delight.)     "  Another  hubber." 

Frank.     "  Hubber  nawthin'  I  " 

Elliot  {stretching  out irrodigiously).     "Now,  now  see  me." 

Frank  {excitedly).  "  Yes,  I  see  yeh,  you  old  hippotaymos  — I 
see  you  getting  your  foot  away  from  that  peg.  H'are  I  Hold 
on  I     Why  don't  you  carry  the  shoe  over  ?" 

Elliot  {pausing).  "  I  don't  need  to  as  bad's  you  do."  (  Throws 
and  groans.) 

Frank.  "  Serves  y'  right."  {As  he  is  throwing,  Johnson  comes 
on  with  a  sickle  in  his  hand,  which  he  leans  \ip  against  the  shop 
door,  and  comes  down  to  lohere  Daddy  Ruble  is  standing,  cack- 
ling at  the  game.) 

Johnson.     "Hello,  you  old  moss-back." 

Puble.     "  Hello,  you  old  copperhead." 


Johnson.     "  Aint  ye  got  nothin'  better'n  this  t'  do  ?" 

Ruble.  "Xo,  I  haint."  {The  croicd  laugh  at  their  game,  and 
the  old  men  turn  to  look.) 

Johnson.  "  You  might  be  prayin'  f  r  a  wind  t'  hist  the  grain. 
Some  fields  look  's  if  a  herd  of  ellvfunts  had  bin  waltzin'  on  top 
of  it." 

Bad/I.y.     "  Bad  as  that !  " 

Johnson  {savagely).  "Yes,  an'  worse.  Old  Jason  Edwards' 
grain  is  jest  pounded  clear  out  o'  sight,  an'  his  house  blowed  six 
ways  f'r  Sunday.     I've  got  sixty  acres  that  won't  pay  t'  cut." 

Frank  (is  heard  saying :)     "  Hold  on,  let  Tonguey  —  " 

Daddy  Ituble.  "  Can't  lay  this  t'  taxation  'r  anythincr,  can 
ye?" 

Johnson.  "  You  bet  I  can.  If  'twant  f'r  monopoly  in  land, 
we  wouldn't  be  crowded  away  out  here  on  this  cussed  prairie  — 
we'd  be  li\dng  where  it  can  rain  without  blowin'  hard  enough  t' 
tear  the  ears  off  a  cast-iron  bulldog." 

Ulliot  {coming  up  to  them).  "  At  it  again,  are  yeh  ?  I'd  like 
t'  see  you  ol'  seeds  quit  quarrelin'  an'  go  to  fightin'."  {Exit  John- 
son.^ after  giving  his  sickle  to  the  smith.) 

{Enter  a  tall.,  avikinard  hoy  carrying  a  large.,  ichite  jug.  He 
wears  a  sheepish  grin^  and  is  in  a  hurry  to  get  by.  Elliot  stopjs 
him.) 

Elliot.  "  Hold  on  there,  young  man."  ( The  rest  echo  the  cry. 
"  What's  your  hurry,  bub  ?  ^Yhat's  in  it  ?  'Lasses,  I  reckon.  Gin 
I  hope.     Wait  a  little,"  etc. 

Elliot  {icith  gravity) .  "  Young  man,  I  am  notary  of  the  public, 
and  must  note  all  public  things  of  this  nature.     Show  up." 

{£oy  turns  the  Jug,  dis/jlaying  in  large,  black  letters  on  the  Jug, 
Boiled  Oil.)  "  Boiled  oil,  hay  ?  I  take  no  man's  word,  much 
less  a  jug's."  {Pulls  stopper,  smells.  Boy  grins.  Elliot  repAaces 
stop/per,  unth  a  icave  of  the  hand.)  "O.  K.,  pass.  Stand  aside, 
gents,  and  let  the  cortege  pass.  Xow,  who  in  this  crowd's  got 
any  conceit  of  himself  on  quates?  Hay!  Xo  one  speaks.  I'll 
try  ten  points  f  r  beer  f'r  the  crowd  —  hay  ?  " 

Whiting.     « I'll  take  yeh  —  if  Frank  don't." 

Frank.     "  I  don't  play  f  r  beer." 

Elliot.     "All  right,  Frank,  here  goes."    {Game  goes  on.) 

Frank  {coming  over  ichere  Reeves  is  standing).  "  How'd  you 
leave  the  old  man  ?" 

Reeves  {gravely).  "Xot  much  change.  His  fever  is  high.  By 
the  way,  a  man  would  hardly  realize  that  the  land  had  been 
swept  by  a  frightful  storm,  to  see  these  fellows  here  in  the  bright 
morning  sunshine  pitching  quates,  eh  I  So  goes  the  way  o'  the 
world,  comedy  holding  the  hand  of  tragedy." 

Frank.     "  Yes,  there's  alwiz  a  raft   of  just  such  lahees,  my- 


self  included,  who'd  laugh  if  their  mother-in-law  died.  Elliot, 
there,  does  nothing  but  laugh  and  grow  fat ;  a  fella  might  as  well. 
Hail  did  knock  things  galley- west  sure." 

Reeves.  "  Your  climate  is  so  sinister  in  its  beauty,  so  delusive 
in  its  brightness,  I  don't  realize,  myself,  what's  been  done  ;  the 
horror  of  last  nig;ht  seems  like  the  exaororeration  of  a  dream. 
The  plain  is  so  fresh,  the  air  so  soft  and  fragrant.  There  is  no 
receding  swell  like  that  on  the  ocean  to  tell  of  the  devastation  that 
has  just  marched  with  the  tempest." 

^ranJc.     "  I  guess  the  Edwards  family  find  it  reality." 

Reeves  {reaching  out  his  hand).  "Graham,  old  man,  it's  due 
to  you  that  they  are  sheltered  and  cared  for." 

Franl\     "  Oh,  drop  that.     That's  nawthin' ! " 

Reeves  {inuses  sadly  afeio  moments.  The  players  go  into  the 
saloon  laughing).  "  I  guess  the  old  man's  work  is  about  finished. 
It  isn't  a  thing  to  be  altogether  sorry  for,  either.  I  don't  suppose 
he  ever  knew  freedom  from  care  —  few  of  us  do.  Our  whole 
infernal  civilization  is  a  struggle.  We  are  climbing  a  perpendic- 
ular cliff  with  a  bottomless  gulf  below  —  clinging  desperately 
to  tiny  roots  and  crevices  and  toiling  upward,  eyes  fixed  on  the 
green  and  pleasant  slopes  above.  We  strain  and  strive,  now  slip- 
ping, now  gaining,  while  our  hair  whitens  T\'ith  the  agony  of  our 
aching,  failing  muscles.  One  by  one  we  give  up  and  fall  with  wild 
curse  or  groan  —  but  the  others  keep  on  not  daring  to  look  down 
—  there  is  no  place  to  rest  from  torturing  thought  save,  perhaps, 
in  the  black  depths  beneath.  Graham,  I  don't  suppose  Edwards 
knows  what  rest  is.  It  makes  me  savage  when  I  think  of  such 
men  grinding  away  from  youth  to  age,  and  getting  nothing  for  it." 

Frank.  "  Knocks  an  eye  out  of  the  American  eagle,  sure's 
you're  born.  But  there's  just  one  class  o'  men  who  don't  need  to 
be  thin'kers  or  workers." 

Reeves.     "  I  know.     You  mean  — " 

Frank.     "  The  man  who  owns  the  earth." 

Judge  {apxrroaching  from  left).  "Fine  morning  after  the 
shower." 

Frank.     "  Call  it  a  shower  do  you,  you  old  boomer." 

Judge.  "  Oh  yes  ;  little  severe  of  course.  Grain  blown  down  a 
little  here  and  there  — every  State  in  the  Union  liable  to  such  — 
damage  merely  nominal.     Wind'll  lift  it  during  the  day." 

Frank.     "  Well,  you  are  a  daisy  I  " 

Reeves  {savagely).  "  The  whole  of  this  settlement  is  unnatural. 
Yq-cCyq  flung  out  here  —  pushed  on  by  speculation.  This  country 
ought  to  have  been  twenty  years  settling.  Would  have  been 
only  that  the  millions  of  acres  of  unused  land  between  here  and 
Chicago  are  oicned  by  railway  sjmdicates  and  private  specula- 
tors who  are  waitinsr  to  lew  tribute  on  — " 


{Tfie  Judge  is  getting  uneasy,  looks  at  his  loatch.  FranJc  is 
smiling.  Elliot  coming  to  the  side  door  of  the  saloon.)  "Gents, 
come  an'  take  sumj^thin'." 

Judge  {going).     "  Don't  care  if  I  do.     Lemonade." 

JSlliot  (to  har-heeper  within).  "  Lemonade.  3Iix  one  o'  the 
Judge's  lemonades.  Come  in,  Frank.  To-day  don't  count." 
{Judge  and  Elliot  go  in.) 

Frank.  "  Every  day  counts  with  my  pledge.  If  you  wan'  to 
shorten  y'r  life  ten  years  {Elliot  disap2)ears)  why!  go  ahead! 
Life  aint  s'  cheap  with  me  as  that."  {Xoise  inside.)  "  Guzzle, 
you  infernal  idiots !  You'd  drink  when  y'r  wives  and  children 
hadn't  a  shoe  to  their  feet.  Oh,  you  make  me  tired."  {Sings, 
iohile  throwing  the  shoes.) 

{Reeves  goes  to  the  door  of  shojy.  Croicd  re-enters  from  the 
left.  Elliot  and  Judge  bringing  'up  the  rear,  they  join  in  the 
song.  The  blacksmith  goes  into  shop  and  begins  to  hammer. 
Players  take  their  ptlaces.  Judge  come^  forward  folloioed  by 
Elliot  %cho  is  telling  a  story.  The  croicd  surround  him.  They 
all  burst  into  loild  laughter.  Elliot  looks  swprised.  The  Judge 
looks  foolish.) 

Elliot  {yelling  above  the  roar).  «  What  the  devil  y'  all  laugh- 
ing at?" 

{All  laugh  and  thump  Elliot  and  the  Judge.) 

{Johnson  entering  from  the  left,  stopjs  the  croicd  with  a  wild 
gesture  and  sjyeaks  savagely.) 

*'  Oh,  you  fellers  're  awful  chipper,  but  just  look  there  !  "  (  They 
turn  to  look  where  he  points,  in  silence.)  "There  goes  Charley 
Severson,  as  fine  a  man  as  ever  lived,  on  his  way  to  the  insane 
asylum,  a  ravin'  maniac.  He  couldn't  stand  the  strain.  They 
say  they  aint  a  spear  o'  wheat  standin'  on  his  land,  but  he's  rich 
now !    He's  got  through  a  little  earlier  than  the  rest  of  us." 

{Two  men  holding  Severson  come  on  left  andpjass  rapidly 
across  the  stage.  The  maniac  looks  wildly  from  his  broken  hat. 
Behind  him  icalks  a  handsome  Norwegian  girl,  in  sorroio  too 
great  for  tears  or  cries,  /She  leads  two  children.  As  they  p)ciss 
the  curtain  falls.) 


ScEJTE  Sixth. — A  Charity  Bed. 

nJl™^^,'  t^^'^  morning,  two  days  after  the  storm.  Set,  parlor  and  bedroom  in  Frank 
"Lrranam  s  nouse.  Parlor  left,  bedroom  right,  door  connecting.  Windows  are  open  in  parlor 
ana  tne  oriiiiant  prairie  can  be  seen  beyond.  On  the  bed,  right  upper  corner  bed-room,  Jason 
^hl^^!^  -  ^^  '"^'1  ^^^^}  ^?  death.  Around  him  are  signs  of  medicine,  bottles,  glasses,  etc. 
ihe  rooms  are  cheaply  but  pleasantly  furnished  and  all  is  cheerful  The  chirp  of  insects 
and  noise  of  fowls  can  be  heard  entering  open  windows. 

{As   the   curtain  rises   Alice  is  discovered  flitting  about  the 
room.     She  comes  occasionally  to   the  bed  to  study  the  face  of 


Jier  father.  At  last  she  goes  out  into  the  parlor  and  ineets 
Frank  G-raham^  %cho  is  entering  at  the  opposite  door.) 

Alice.  "  Good-morning,  Mr.  Graham.  Did  you  see  the  doctor 
when  he  was  here  this  morning  ?     What  did  he  say  ?  " 

Frank.  "Not  much  of  anything.  Pinched  his  chin  in  the 
usual  manner  and  looked  as  wise  as  he  could.  I  take  it  he's  in 
no  present  danger  —  sort  of  nervous  prostration,  very  fashionable 
just  now.     Is  he  sleeping  yet?  " 

Alice  {in  a  troubled  tone).  "Yes,  and  it  frightens  me.  He 
hasn't  spoken  to  me  in  thirty-six  hours.  Since  that  terrible 
moment  he  has  lain  there,  so  like  the  dead !  " 

Frank.  "  That  shows  how  worn  out  he  was.  Sleep  is  just 
what  he  needs.     He'll  come  out  all  right  in  a  day  or  two." 

Alice.     "  \\Tio  watched  with  him  after  Walter  went  away?" 

Frank.     "  Walter  didn't  go  away." 

Alice.     "  Why,  he  promised  he  would  !  " 

Frank.  "Well,  he  stayed  right  here,  wouldn't  hear  to  my 
sitting  up.  He  went  down  street  a  little  while  ago  to  get  a  cup 
of  coSee  —  be  back  soon." 

Alice,     "  How  good  he  —  you  all  are." 

Frank.  "  Yes,  we're  all  right  now.  But  let  me  give  you  a 
word  of  ad^■ice.  Reeves  is  touchy  as  a  bear  with  sore  ears. 
You  treat  him  carefully.  Whatever  he  plans  you  carry  out  — 
now  mind  that." 

Alice.     "  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

Frank  (grimly).     "I've  said."     {Exit  I.) 

(Alice  stands  musing.  Beeves  enters  left.,  grave  almost  stern, 
she  does  not  hear  him.,  he  puts  his  arm  about  her  shoulders.  She 
starts  slightly,  looks  up  and  smiles.)  "  How  kind,  how  generous 
you  are  to  us !  " 

Reeves  (looking  doion  at  her).  "  Nothing  of  the  kind,  I  assure 
you.  We're  all  egotists  at  bottom  —  even  in  our  charities.  I'm 
no  exception,  don't  think  I  am.     How  is  he  now  ?  " 

Alice  (fondly).  "As  if  you  didn't  know,  you  stubborn  boy! 
I've  found  out  how  you  obey  my  orders.  You  sat  here  beside  his 
bed  all  night." 

Reeves.     "  That  was  to  ease  my  conscience.     He's  still  sleep- 


mg?" 


Alice.  "  Yes,  so  soundly  !  What  does  it  mean  ?  " 
Reeves.  "  It  means  rest.  As  I  sat  by  his  side  last  night  I  saw 
the  congested  blood  slowly  retreat  from  his  head  till  his  face  grew 
white,  and  his  pulse  more  natural,  till  his  swoon  became  sleep. 
And  sitting  there  I  thought  and  thought,  till  thought  became 
resolution."  (Approaching  her  again.)  "Alice,  my  dearest, 
are  you  satisfied?  Will  you  give  up  the  battle?  It's  been  a 
hopeless  struggle  from  the  first.     You  are  helpless  and  homeless 


now.     Will  you  refuse  my  help  again  ?     It  was  morbid use- 
less." 

Alice  {evading  his  eyes).  "  My  first  duty  was  to  my  parents. 
O  Walter,  Walter,  to  think  what  they  have*^  suffered  !  Think  of 
the  unutterable  tragedy  of  such  a  life  —  to  work  all  one's  days 
in  storm  and  heat  —  and  then  lie  there  !  " 

Walter  {firmly).  "Don't  evade  me  — you  sha'n't  evade  me 
now.  Will  you  come  to  me,  you  and  yours  ?  Will  you  let  me 
care  for  you?  Look  at  me.  Don't  look  away — answer  me 
nowP 

Alice  {yielding  to  him  at  last^puts  her  arms  about  his  neck). 
"  If  I  am  worth  so  much." 

Walter  {triumphantly).  «  So  much!  You  are  worth  acres  of 
diamonds ! " 

Alice  {smili7ig).     "Oh,  you  say  so  now." 

Reeves  {in  the  same  exultant  strain).  "  And  I'll  say  so  ever  ! 
Now  let  Rome  in  Tiber  melt  and  the  wide-arched  —  what's  the 
rest  of  it?  I'll  be  generous  indeed,  I'll  forgive  and  forget.  But 
dearest,  what  a  tragedy  had  been,  had  I  married  some  other  Bos- 
ton girl  during  those  years ! " 

Alice.  "  I  was  afraid  you  would  —  I  couldn't  have  blamed  you 
if  you  had." 

Reeves  {with  a  ijvofound  sigh).  "  All  that  saved  you  was  your 
coldness.  The  more  I  couldn't  get  you,  the  more,  of  course,  I 
wanted  you  ;  it's  the  way." 

Alice.  "According  to  that  reasoning,  I've  done  wrong  to 
promise  anything  now." 

Reeves.     "  That's  a  non  sequitur.     You're  mine  — " 
Alice.     "  Yes,  but  —  " 

Reeves.     "  But  me  no  buts.     I  won't  stand  it !  " 
Alice.     "  But  father  is  so  inflexible,  he  hates  charity  so.     He 
may  not  consent  to  be  helped  even  now  —  " 

Reeves.  "  Trust  the  whole  matter  to  me.  I'll  be  a  sort  of 
special  providence, —  nothing  flatters  a  man  more  than  to  be  a 
sort  of  lieutenant  to  God."  {Tenderly,  almost  reproachfully.) 
"  Allie,  Allie,  what  happy  years  were  lost,  what  sorrowful  ones 
suffered  by  his  pride  and  your  wilfulness. " 
Alice.  "  It  was  not  ^vilfulness,  it  was  —  " 
Reeves  {hastily).  "I'll  retract!  I'll  retract!  It  was  heroism. 
—  Only,  forget  it  all  now.  Let  the  hand  of  labor  swell,  and 
the  weary  head  bow.  Let  the  wind  lay  hard  on  the  icy  plain 
and  the  hail  of  summer  trample  the  wheat.  Let  the  roar  and 
rush  of  trade  go  on  in  its  granite  grooves.  You  are  out  of 
the  press.     My  lily,  my  life  shall  be  devoted  to  making  you  for- 

Alice  {ynusing  sadly).     "I  am  out  of  the  press,  hut  not  by  my 


own  merit.  Hush,  you  know  what  I  mean !  I  hate  charity, 
because  it  is  not  justice,  and  after  all,  I  am  saved  by  a  sort  of 
charity.     The  world's  injustice. remains,  my  failure  remains.'' 

Heeves  {with  a  sigh).  "  True.  But  you  and  I  can't  bring  the 
millennium  by  living  apart  and  suffering  needlessly.  So  look  up, 
my  flower  !    The  failure  is  not  so  hopeless." 

{Enter  Jlrs.  E.  and  Frank.,  Alice  meets  her  mother.,  Frank 
and  Reeces  talk  apart.) 

Jlrs.  E.     "  Why  didn't  you  wake  me  up  ?  " 

Alice.     "  It  wasn't  necessary,  Walter  —  " 

Mrs.  E.     "  How  is  he  now?  " 

Alice.  "  Walter  and  the  doctor  think  he  is  better  and  that 
when  he  wakes  he  -svill  know  us." 

( TTiei/  quietly  enter  and  stand  looking  dmcn  on  the  sleeping 
man.     Reeves  and,  Frank  talk  apmrt^ 

Frank  {bursting  out).     "Good!   that's  —  " 

Beeves.     "  To-day,  you  understand." 

Frank.     "I  savvy.'' 

Reeves.     "As  soon  as  Edwards  is  able  to  give  his  consent." 

Frank.  "  That's  business,  that's  the  way  we  do  it  out  here. 
Civil  contract.     Xo  frills,  no  nonsense." 

Reeves.  "  The  Judge  will  do,  he'll  have  to  do.  Xow  see 
that  everything  is  O.  K.,  papers,  etc." 

Frank  {going  out).     "Trust  me,  old  man." 

(As  Reeves  enters  the  bedroom.,  Einnie.,icith  hair  flying.,  comes 
bounding  in^  joyfully^  childishly.)  "  Oh,  poppa's  better,  I  know 
he  is !  " 

{They  silence  her.  Edwards  stirs  slightly  then  opens  his  eyes 
clear  and  quiet.  Alice  falls  on  her  knees  by  his  side.  At  length 
he  speaks.)  "  Good  mornin',  mother,  Allie."  {His  voice  is  husky, 
his  lips  dry.) 

Alice.     "  Don't  you  want  a  drink  of  water  ?  " 

(He  sips  it.)     "  Where's  my  —  where's  my  baby  ?  " 

Xinnie.     "  Here  I  be,  poppa." 

(Edwards  pjuts  his  arm  feebly  over  her  head  and  snuggles  her 
face  down  by  his  cheek.  He  sees  Reeves.,  looks  at  him  wonder- 
ingly.  Extends  his  hand.)  "  How  d'  do,  sir —  didn't  know  yeh 
at  first."  (Looking  around  the  room.)  "  Why,  we  aint  in  Boston ! 
Is  this  your  house,  sir  ?  " 

Alice.  "  Xo,  this  is  Frank  Graham's,  father."  (He  doesrCt  under- 
stand., she  explains.)  "  Don't  you  know  how  the  storm  came  and 
blew  down  — " 

(He  remembers  now.)     "  Is  it  passed  off  ?  " 

Mrs.  E.     "  All  clear  and  bright,  Jason. 

Edwards.     "  Then  it  icas  blowed  down." 

Alice.     "  Yes,  father,  the  shed  was  torn  away  and  every  win- 


dow  broken.     I  dragged  you  in  and  then  Mr.  Elliot  and  Frank 
came  — " 

Edv:rirds  (in  the  same  slow  if^coj).  "An'  the  wheat's  all  cut  t' 
pieces  ?  " 

3Ti's.  E.     "  Yes,  Jason,  worse'n  you  c'n  think." 

Eduiards  {after  a  long  pause).  "  Then  I  may  jes'  's  well  die.  It 
aiut  no  use  !  I  can't  never  git  up  agin,  with  all  them  morgiges 
weighin'  me  down  — " 

Sirs.  E.     "  O  Jason,  Jason ! " 

Alice.     "  Live  for  our  sakes,  father,  for  Linnie." 

Lxnrde.  "  You  must  get  well,  poppa,  I  won't  let  you  die.  We 
won't  have  a  home  without  you." 

Edwards.  "  I'd  onlv  be  a  burden  to  veh,  stid  of  a  blessin'. 
I'm  old,  old !  So  old  Idon't  feel  as  if  — "  "  ( To  Beeves.)  «  An'  it 
was  all  tromped  down  ?  " 

Beeves.  "  AU  destroyed.  The  centre  of  the  —  the  storm 
seemed  to  move  right  across." 

Edwards  {ire  deep  bitterness) .  "Of  course!  God  an'  man 
joined  hands  t'  break  me  down.  They  aint  but  jest  one  place 
left,  jest  one  little  spot  made  an'  purvided  f r  such  as  me  — 
that's  the  grave.  They'd  crowd  me  out  o'  there  if  they  could,  but 
they  can't,  they  aint  any  landlords  in  the  grave.  I  c'n  rest  easy 
there."' 

{All  are  weep^ing^  Alice  stroking  his  hair.  Ei/mie  icith  her  head 
buried  in  thepAllow.) 

Mrs.  E.  {rising  hastily).  "  I'll  go  an'  git  y'  s'm  tea,  Jason.  I 
guess  that'll  hearten  you  up  some."  {Goes  out  tcith  tearful  face. 
Meets  Frank  Graham  and  his  'wife  and  all  go  out  together.) 

Edwards  {looks  at  Beeves).  "  You've  been  a  good  friend  to  us 
all,  young  man.  Y'll  never  git  y'r  pay  f'r  waitin'  s'  long.  I've 
never  felt  just  right  about  it.  But  I  couldn't  see  no  way  out  of 
it.     Allie  wouldn't  — " 

Beeves.  "  Xever  mind  about  that.  I'll  get  my  pay."  {To 
Alice.)  "  There's  a  curious  sort  of  morbid  pleasure  in  denying 
oneself  a  pleasure.     You  know  it  I  " 

Linnie  {caressing  Edwards).  "Don't  give  up,  poppa.  Just 
see  how  nice  the  prairie  looks,  mebbe  the  wheat  aint  all  spoiled." 

Edwards  {after  a  long pja"se^  brokenly.)  "  I'm  no  account  from 
this  time  on.  I've  got  through.  All  I'd  want  now  is  t'  git  back 
t'  the  old  town  where  I  played.  Seems  's  if  I  could  jest 
kinda  git  where  I  could  hear  the  sound  of  water  once  more  an' 
see  the  old  green  hills  I'd  die  more  satisfied,  someway." 

Beeves  {with  great  eagerness^  kneeling),  "  Listen  to  me,  father, 
I'm  going  to  take  things  in  my  own  hands  now.  I'm  going  to 
make  Alice  my  wife.  From  this  time  on,  her  home  is  your  home. 
You  needn't  worry  about  their  future  ;  just  enjoy — " 


Edwards  {stopping  him  vnth  a  rjesture).  "Hold  on,  young 
man  !  I'm  sixty  years  of  age.  F'r  fifty  years  I've  travelled,  and 
I've  always  i^aid  my  way.  Up  t'  this  day  I've  earned  every 
criimb  I've  eet,  every  dollar  I've  spent.  I  never  was  beholden  to 
any  man  before,  and  I  wouldn't  be  now  if, —  but  don't  talk  t'  me 
about  enjoyiiib  —  it  aint  in  me,  a  pauper  !"' 

Alice  {indignantly).     "You're  not  a  pauper." 

Reeves  {rising  qiiickh/).  "He's  a  hero!  He  has  fought 
heroically.  No  battle  with  bayonet  and  ball  can  test  the  courage 
of  a  man  like  this  hopeless  battle  against  the  injustice  of  the 
world,  this  grinding,  endless,  ferocious  war  against  hunger  and 
cold." 

Alice  {fondly^  impidsivehj).     "  Walter,  you  are  —  an  angel !  " 

Beeves  {smiling  and x>ressing  her  cheek  against  his  shoulder). 
"A  very  tnilitant  angel,  I  assure  you,  with  an  absorbing  love  for 
earthly  heroes  and  heroines."  {Bending  over  Edi'-ards  and  tak- 
ing him  by  the  hand.)  "  I  know  how  hard  it  is  for  a  brave  sol- 
dier to  go  to  the  rear.  I've  heard  my  father  say  —  he's  dead,  he 
was  in  the  Wilderness,  as  you  were,  —  I've  heard  him  say  that 
men  shot  down  in  a  charge,  used  to  bind  up  their  wounds  and 
stagger  on  streaming  with  blood  rather  than  go  to  the  rear,  their 
eyes  blazing  from  their  livid  faces,  unconquered  and  unconquera- 
ble, and  when  they  weakened  and  fell,  they'd  swing  their  caps 
and  cheer  as  the  column  passed  on  into  the  smoke  of  the  enemy's 
cannon."  {Tenderly^  kneeling.)  "  Old  man, you've  gone  down  in 
a  greater  and  more  ferocious  battle  than  the  Wilderness.  You're 
old  and  disabled ;  let  me  carry  you  to  the  rear.  Let  me  take  you 
back  to  Derry."     {Enter  Mrs.  E.^.icith ])lcitter.) 

Alice  {jyleading).  "Yes,  father,  you've  done  your  part. 
You're  not  to  blame.  You'll  die  here  —  mother,  plead  with  him. 
Father,  I've  fought  with  you,  but  I  can't  fight  longer.  I'm  worn 
out  ^^th  it  all.     I've  given  up." 

Edicards  {after  a  long  pause).  "I  surrender.  I'm  beat.  I 
give  up,  but  it  hurts,  it  hurts  !  I'm  like  an  old  broken  scythe, 
hung  up,  t'  rust  in  the  rain ;  I  aint  no  use  to  y'  now,  Jennie  ! 
Here's  my  hand,  young  man  —  Walter,  my  son,  take  her  back 
t'  Boston  w^here  she  ought  t'  be,  an'  take  me  back  t'  Derry. 
I  sha'n't  be  a  burden  to  y'  long.  I  don't  s'pose  I'm  wuth  the 
trouble,  but  I'd  kindo  like  t'  be  buried  back  there.  I  hate  t'  die 
out  on  this  hot  prairie  with  no  tree  t'  be  buried  under ;  seems  's  if 
I  couldn't  rest,  an'  rest  is  the  sweetest  thing  in  the  world  f'r  a 
man  like  me,  the  only  thing  left  —  I  can't  lose  that." 

Linnie  {tJcroics  herself  on  his  knees).  "  Oh,  poppa,  poppa,  you 
make  my  heart  ache  so." 

Edwards  {stroking  her  hair),  "  I  hope  you  won't  have  t' 
suffer  as  Allie  has,  little  girl." 


Beeves  {with  deepest  earnestness).  "I  say  you  are  fallen,  but 
the  column  has  passed  on,  the  battle  will  yet  be  won.  Courage, 
you  will  yet  live  to  see  the  outposts  of  the  enemy  carried,  and 
Linnie  will  live  to  see  a  larger  and  grander^  abolition  cause, 
carried  to  a  bloodless  Appomattox,  the  abolition  of  industrial 
slavery." 

{Linnie  lifts  her  face.) 

Alice.     "  Do  you  think  so  ?      Is  there  hope,  Walter  ?  " 

Beeves.     "  There  is  sjreat  hope." 

Edwards.  "  If  I  could  believe  that,  I'd  feel  easier.  If  I  c'd 
feel  that  my  children,  and  my  children's  children  could  have  a 
better  chance  than  I've  had,  I  mean  without  your  help  or  any- 
body's help, —  all  I  ask  is  a  fair  chance  —  " 

Beeves.  "  That's  what  I  mean.  A  fair  chance  for  every  man 
—  ifs  coining  I^"* 

Alice.     "  Do  you  think  so  ?  " 

Beeces  {expanding  icith  enthusiasm).  "I  know  it.  Just  as  I 
know  spring  will  come  again." 

Eduxirds.     "  If  I  could  b'lieve  that." 

Beeves  {in  the  same  tone).  "  You  can't  help  believing  it,  as  you 
live  the  next  five  years,  the  air  is  already  electrical  with  inquiry. 
Over  us  the  shadow  still  hangs,  but  far  in  the  west  a  faint^  ever- 
widening  crescent  of  light  tells  of  clear  skies  beyond.  Live  for 
that  time,  it's  worth  living  for.  Strike  hands  with  me.  Let  me 
carrv  vour  knapsack.     Believe  in  the  future  —  " 

Edwards.     "  I'll  try."     ( Theg  clasp  hands.) 

Alice.  «  How  much  you  are  to  us,  Walter.  You  have  given 
us  all  new  life." 

Beeves.  "  I've  only  begun  to  be  something  to  you.  Now  we 
are  readv  to  begin  life  together,  and  they  shall  rest  easy  — " 

3Irs.  Edwards.     "  Here's  y'r  tea,  Jason." 

Edwards  {tryiJig  to  rise).     "  Help  me  up." 

Mrs .  Edwards.  "  Wait  a  minute.  Linnie,  bring  some  water  and 
a  towel ;  Alhe,  bring  that  bowl  o'  broth.  Don't  try  to  get  up, 
Jason,  till  I  get  some  more  pillows."     (  The  icomen  go  out.) 

{Edwards  struggles  to  rise.,  Beeves  x>uts  his  arm  about  his 
shoulders,  as  he  does  so  a  lool'  of  horror  2)(isses  over  the  old 
man's  face.  He  stares  at  Beeves,  at  last  whisp>ers :)  "  My  God,  I 
can't  move  my  feet !  " 

Beeves  {comprehending).  «Xo,  no.  Great  God,  man,  that 
would  be  too  horrible.     It's  only  temporary  numbness  —  " 

{Edwards  ma'kes  another  desperate  effort  and  falls  hack  on  his 
pillow,  w'ithset,  despairing  fcLce,  a  groan  bursts  from  his  lips.) 

"  Xo,  no  —  it's  true  —  Tm paralyzed!  " 

Alice  {^re-entering  hears,  stands  for  a7i  instant  appalled — rushes 
to  his  side).     "  Oh,  it  can't  be  true  —  I  —  " 


Edwards  (on  impulse  to  shield).   "Sh!     Don't  teU  -  them - 

"t;^7cS"iiL...  stand  horrified,  ,azing  into  eachother^s 

fii/f<i  Linnie  enters  dancing^  inhistUng. 

^LinZ    -And.   now   4'11   go   back   to   Boston,   wont   we, 

Curtain, 


.^mm 


i|iiil|,HiHII,J|llll|l|l  III,    .  ■< 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON   THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


AN  INITIAL  FINE  OF  25  CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  50  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.00  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


^ 


2Chr 


::nr^ 


SENT  ON  ILL 


NOV  :  2  1933 


^'i'JN'SJLP 


WAY2fe  yn 


U.  C.  BERKELEY 


^^^^^nrissj: 


-'    ov    \-'' 


^3^ 


tr^  rec^-^^ 


in 


^V  0^*^  LD  21-1007n-8,' 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


V*. 


